


Masquerade

by Kdledga



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Manipulation, Mentions of religion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre RE1, Re1 through RE2 events, Reader-Insert, Scars, Slow Burn, Stalking, Time Travel, Torture, morally grey reader/mc, other RE titles TBA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kdledga/pseuds/Kdledga
Summary: History is always threatening to repeat itself. And in your case, it is literal. You were gifted a second chance and therefore have laid the foundation to keep away from the chaos brought on by Umbrella's horrible experiments. However, Raccoon City is somehow still keeping its grip on you. And whether the people of your past have changed for the better or worse, they are all unfortunately helping to seal your fate.
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Reader, Chris Redfield/Reader
Comments: 50
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this work is intended for mature audiences only; 18+ readers. It's extremely important for me to insist that before you continue, look over the warnings and tags. Your safety and comfort is important. Therefore, please take care of yourself. For anyone trying this new story of mine, all I can say is welcome; I hope you enjoy. Even if you don't, thank you for giving it a chance! Most importantly, I hope you all are staying safe during this crazy year.

The air is incredibly dry. You try to wet your lips, but they are rubbed raw and the only moisture providing you with any relief is the gentle pooling of blood in your mouth. The air feels like it is trapped. But when you to try to exhale, the air is not there. You will yourself to breathe in, only to have the panic settle in as nothing enters you. There is a twist in your chest, the crunching of bone and the snapping sounds are louder than your strained voice.

When you look up, a pale face stares down at you as if absorbing every little sound you make. Even though your head is spinning you try and make sense of who is holding onto you. They could very well be a stranger but you swore they said your name at first. That pale face makes another move and the feeling in your chest is assaulted by something worse. The sharpness that engulfs you destroys what little structure you had to dust as the blade was forced deeper and deeper, and your chest is crumbling from the inside out; collapsing and bursting.

You couldn’t make sense of things anymore. You reach up as if seeking help from the heavens; your delicate fingers coated in crimson reach out for something to grasp-for something to spare you from this torture. All you see is the flash of red as your attacker inches closer to your face.

_Why are you doing this?_

You wish you could ask-to simply have the ability to ask but you aren’t awarded such mercy. You can’t even cry. The grasp that held you in place finally releases you and you feel time slow down. You are falling slowly. His devilish face becomes more distant, and with each second your fingers extend as if still searching for salvation. But as you beg with what little of your heart remains intact, time speeds up again. A sharp pain invades that back of your head as you land onto the ground.

And then there is darkness. His eyes are not watching you anymore. He must have left. So, you close your eyes and decide that the fight has left you; that you were done too.

* * *

The searing heat licks at your skin, causing your eyes to flutter open. They do so slowly, not allowing the onslaught of light to invade your compromised sight. Slowly, you take your time and you look up to the sight of green. Beautiful and lush, this green moves with the wind adding its own sweet tune. Crisp and alive, the patterns of green collide with each other and you realize how far up it soars. Tall ageless trees overseeing you with leaves that shelter you from complete exposure to the light.

Who are you again?

_Oh, that’s right. I used to be…_

You sit up and find that you are fine. No more pain and no more tears. Faith has always been a tricky subject for you. Never wholly devoted but you often found yourself saying a prayer or asking the powers that be to help guide you. Right now, it seems the afterlife was at least familiar.

Your palms are at your side, balancing you. They press into the soft soil, every so often feeling the pinch of twigs and sharp pebbles.

_How strange…_

You could still feel things when you’re dead? Why? The last thing you wanted was to _feel_. Your fingers curl in and squeeze the soil in your palms. It all felt genuine and fresh. With that, you stand up with a struggle. Your legs wobble as they threaten to lose all control. Still, you force yourself to stand as best as you can. When you find your balance, you look around and see nothing but trees. And more notably, the air you breathe in is absolutely wonderful.

_Am I alive?_

You look down and you…are wearing an over-sized black t-shirt. Continuing the trail you notice your torn jeans, and worn out chucks on your feet. _Were there clothes in the afterlife?_ Even so, you pat down the shirt, feeling for any pain leftover from your wounds. When you lift up the heavy fabric, you notice your skin as it is coated in soil, so you brush the debris away lightly. Eventually strange and dark stains are revealed, trailing from your chest down to your belly. You concentrate on the space between your breasts, where the stain begins. There is a distinct line, much lighter than your skin tone. You trace the shape and realize it’s a scar, but when you look over your left breast, there is another similar one there. You loath thinking about it, but you remember how the stranger had stabbed you multiple times, and with each stab wound you confirm a scar is in its place.

The crunching of twigs catches your attention and you turn immediately to your right. A little boy stares with absolute horror before realizing who he had found out in the woods.

_This was definitely not the afterlife!_

The little boy has brown skin; soft wavy light brown hair-and you remember how much darker his hair used to be but he loved being out in the sun. He has hazel eyes that are complemented with over-sized thick rimmed glasses. It’s your brother, Michael. But the problem you are finding yourself in is the fact that although he was in fact your younger sibling, he should still be an adult.

You try your best to control the shaking of your voice. “Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” You want to scream and curse and pull out your hair, but all you can do is accept that he is here in front of you. Perhaps you are reliving a memory before you move on to wherever you’re meant to go.

“I don’t care! Dad is super mad at you for not coming home last night! He called your _boyfriend_ by the way.” He sticks his tongue out at you as you fidget with your t-shirt. You look at him again and cross your arms.

“What’s today?”

“Saturday,” he says plainly.

“What is the date?”

He gives you a scowl but starts to recall the day. “I think it’s the 25th.”

“What _year?_ ”

“Why are you asking me stupid questions?”

“MICHAEL-” He takes a few steps back almost prepared to run but he watches for your next move.

“…1989.”

“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.” You stomp off into the direction of where Michael had approached from.

“I’m telling dad what you said.” Michael grins and runs after you.

_1989.1989. This can’t be real-it just can’t. What the fuck am I going to do? How old am I again? …Fifteen! Oh no not again, this is just a dream-it has to be._

Your thoughts continue and you aren’t at all finding any method for how you would find yourself back to your teenage years. Although many people look fondly at their youth, you made a lot of trouble for yourself and your family before you finally mellowed out in your twenties. Looks like you had a lot of time to rethink some of those choices. Twenty-Four years old seemed like an eternity away, but you know very well how fast time passes you by.

When you find a clearing, you see your old childhood home. A modest cabin styled home with only one story to it, but when you enter the house, you aren’t greeted with the benefits of nostalgia; you are greeted with an angry man standing at the door. But his anger dissipates and all that is left is concern as he notices the state that you’re in.

He runs after you and takes you into his arms. “(Y/N), what the hell-what happened? Are you okay?” He tries to rub the dirt off your cheeks and notices something you didn’t realize was on your face as well. “Is that _blood?”_ Tears are beginning to pool at the corners of your eyes. “Please _tell me._ ” 

He looks over to Michael and makes him go to his room. He wants to protest but your father makes a quick and stern demand for him to listen, and Michael thankfully does. Meanwhile, your father guides you to the kitchen and sits you down. He pours you a cup of tea that was already brewed. You take the delicate cup and allow the warmth to soothe your palms. Without asking, he knows to add a cool splash of milk and a couple tablespoons worth of sugar. When you take that first sip, you release a comforted sigh and look over to your father.

He was a six-foot-tall burly man with hair that would be combed back, if not for the fact that he hadn’t gotten ready for the day. _He must have been up all night._ His brown skin now complemented by dark circles under reddened and irritated eyes. When you look at the kitchen table, the cherry wood was now covered in an assortment of papers. Different contacts sourced from anything ranging from school work with random doodles; a journal; random sticky notes; and your father’s Rolodex.

A ringing pierces through the silence and he answers it quickly. “-She came home. Yeah…” He continues to give the stranger quick answers and gives them a thanks before hanging up.

“Where you with anyone?” he asks, the fire in his eyes had finally ignited. You recall Michael’s comment about your _boyfriend_ , but from what you remember, your relationships in school usually ended rather quickly. If you knew exactly what month it was, you might be able to figure out if there was anyone you were involved with. But it didn’t really matter; you choose to keep the answer simple.

“No.”

“Then…” he struggles with the appropriate words. “In your own time. I’d like you to tell me what happened.” He repeats himself, trying to get you to realize that he does understand that it may take time for you to explain what happened. You didn’t blame him for his hesitation. He was probably thinking the worse had happened. Someone may have assaulted you. But the fact was worse and more confusing.

You are back home, and you were under your dad’s roof again. He was an honest man, so much so that he didn’t shy away from letting you know the fact that he wasn’t your biological father. You don’t remember how old you were when you were adopted but not too long after you moved here, he adopted Michael. You didn’t have bitter memories with your dad personally. Any troubles you had caused were with other students and teachers, and he would be left to clean up the messes, not really disciplining you. Spoiled was definitely an appropriate word for how you were…for who you are now. This would be the first dilemma between the both of you if you explained everything exactly as it happened. You debated with yourself what would be the best course of action.

He gets up and begins whipping up a quick breakfast for you; allowing you to have your thoughts to yourself. Scrambled eggs are made fresh, and then he grabs some untouched bacon that was left over from him and Michael. He places everything in front of you and takes his place across the table. You are overcome with a mouth watery hunger as the smell of freshly cooked eggs hits you. You eat eagerly. There were no crumbs because everything went in your mouth without missing a single morsel. The plate is soon clean and empty, and your father is trying to distract himself with his own serving of tea.

“I…” His eyes are more intense and his posture perks up as he listens. “I think I had a terrible nightmare. I may…have slept walked.” He inhales, and when he exhales there is a subtle groan of annoyance.

“You’ve never slept walked before.” He crosses his arms and waits.

“Dad. I think there is something wrong with me.” You feel the ability to lie leave you and your fathers is repositioning his chair next to yours so that he could take one of your small hands into his. You take this as an approval to continue.

“I feel like a woke up from a nightmare. But it felt so _real_.” The tears are pouring uncontrollably, and you struggle to contain yourself. “In this dream I died. I was _murdered_. It happened soon after Raccoon City…I mean after this incident. There were infected people everywhere, and I lost you both to these _monsters_. Someone found me, and then…” You have to catch your breath before continuing. “They stabbed me.” You start pointing to your chest, and you reach around to a shoulder blade and recall that your attacker hadn’t given you any warning; they started their assault from behind you.

Your father sits still and tries to take in what you’ve told him. But your fear of being brushed aside takes hold of your composure and you frantically start explaining further.

“I can prove it! I have scars…I can list people that work at R.P.D. You see, I was a secretary there. I mean how could I know any of these people when we haven’t been there!?” You are somewhere in between laughing and pure hysterics as you grab a piece of paper and start listing down people and the order of events as they had occurred.

You steal glances of your father, and it seems like a sort of grief is washing over him as you continue to write down everything and anything that would add validity to your story. You shove the papers towards him and you turn around to pull down the fabric, revealing the scar on your shoulder blade.

You father gives a little sigh as he walks over to a drawer and retrieves a clean towel. He then runs it under water from the sink for a few seconds and afterward walks over to you. It takes him a moment, but he soon begins wiping at the spot. You can’t see him very well but he had stopped moments after and proceeds to plant himself back down, this time to his original spot in front of you. His large hand is over his mouth, and his red eyes are now betraying the calmness he held as tears start cascading down his cheeks. He was suppressing a real sob and all you could do is watch.

When you feel your bravery return to you, you begin to speak, “What?”

“…There’s blood everywhere,” he looks over to the soaked towel. ‘And there’s a scar.”

“Do-do you believe me now?” You're holding on to that hope like it’s the last thing you have before you lose all grip on reality.

“I believe something happened to you. But to suggest time travel…” he doesn’t know what to say. “I need some time to think. (Y/N), why don’t you go and wash up and rest. We’ll talk later.” You nod and walk in the direction of the bathroom.

* * *

It’s hours before you see your father again. You had asked Michael over his whereabouts but he didn’t hear any updates and was too busy organizing his cassette collection. You decided to take the time and rest, so when you wake, it is evening and you hear things shuffling around in the kitchen area.

You walk in and see the man busying himself with chopping up plenty of vegetables for your dinner. When he hears your footsteps, he doesn’t look at you, he just asks politely if you can take a seat.

He washes his hands quickly and stays standing, hand on one hip while balancing himself against the counter with the other hand. He’s staring out of the window, and you wonder what he could be thinking. You pray with everything you have that he doesn’t decide he doesn’t want you anymore.

He clears his throat and you can’t help the little jump you do as you hear it. “My job.”

“Your job?” you cut him off, completely confused.

“I can’t leave my job right now. But I promise I’ll figure something out where we’ll be outta here before shit hits the fan.” Your eyes are wide and you can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“We won’t be here when the violent outbreak happens. You and your brother will be safe, I promise. You wrote down 1998, correct?” All you do is nod. “We have plenty of time then. But the work I do is too important to leave so I’m sorry to say you have to be here a little longer.”

“You really believe me?” You pinch the skin on your hand, confirming the reality of the situation.

“I believe you.” You bounce off your seat and you run into his arms. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you close, making you feel at ease as his fingers brush through your hair. “I really wish it wasn’t real, that you didn’t go through all of that. But how could I call myself your father if I can’t even bother to listen to you. You will always be heard. No matter what happens, I will always be on _your side_.”

His words are soothing to your ears and provide some temporary healing to your heart. But you still had something that needed to be addressed. “Dad, are we not going to do anything about what is happening? Are we not going to try to prevent it?”

Your father walks over to your scribbles that are still on the table and he looks at the frantic list you put together. “Umbrella is a big company. I don’t know if we can stop it.”

“But…a lot of people will die.”

“That is not your job. And mine is to keep you safe.” His eyes are no longer gentle. He has no intention of doing more than is necessary all for your sake. And you feel guilty. But the thought of you not being around when everything happens, that was much more enticing and safer. You walk over and stare into his dark eyes and tell him that you agree.


	2. Chapter 2

The phone is ringing and you are wondering if your roommate is going to bother with picking it up. And when she shows no effort in doing so, you quickly tie your ruby red robe to your soaked body and drape your towel over your head, skipping a proper hair dry. You walk out, and a cloud of steam releases into the apartment. You suddenly hear a voice and you give an annoyed huff as Stephanie finally answers.

“ _Oh hey, Abraham,_ ” she says with a little too much enthusiasm. You march over and face her, dragging your finger across your throat. _I will beat your ass_. You never liked how flirty she was trying to be with your father-and even though she constantly reassures you that she is joking-it doesn’t stop her from pushing your buttons. “Of course, she’s right here,” she gives you a wink and hands the handset over to you. You had already removed your towel and swung at her back side as she ran away giggling.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), how are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright. Are you at the airport yet?”

“I had to find a later flight. But I’ll be there in a couple of days.” You give a whine and grip the phone cord, trying to control your nerves. “But there’s something else.”

“What?” you say with a bit of annoyance.

“Your brother…he’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?!”

“He left me a little message. Apparently, he left with his friends to Raccoon City…”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“What the hell is there for him to even do?! He could’ve gone anywhere- Like Vegas!”

“I’m just as confused.” You can hear something break in the background. He wouldn’t admit to his little outburst but you doubt that whatever he threw survived the impact.

“Okay, well it’s still February.” You feel a little more at ease. _There's still time._

“Well I’ve tried calling him. I just want to make sure he’s okay,” he says.

“He should be fine. It’s early enough. Maybe we need to just let him get this out of his system, and he’ll come back on his own.” Your father doesn't speak for a moment.

“(Y/N), I made a promise to keep you away. And that includes your brother.”

“Okay look, let me try and get a hold of him. And once we know how long his trip is, we can rest easy. Okay?”

“Alright.” You successfully calm him down, and then give him your best before you hang up.

* * *

It takes a couple of days before you get a call back from your brother…

“Hey.” He sounds rather cheerful. That in itself gives you some hope.

“Hey yourself. What you doing?” You try to keep your voice mellow enough.

“Just taking a little break.”

“Yeah? In Raccoon City?” _Of all the places._

“Dad told you.”

“He was just a little shocked. Especially since you have classes you are apparently ditching.”

“I know it sounds bad, but I Just really needed some time away. Come on (Y/N), it’s not like you didn’t do the same.”

“I know, I know. We were just worried since it was rather abrupt and I’m barely getting a call back now. Anyways, how long is your break?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You’re clenching your fist, trying not to yell.

“Look, the guys are waiting on me. I’ll call you back later.”

“Wait, Michael.”

“Love you.” He hangs up.

As expected, the follow up call with your father has him already planning to pack up his bags. “It’s nothing,” he says, as you insist that he stay and rest. And he wonders where you get your stubbornness from.

“I’m going to go, dad. I will keep you updated.”

“I’m the most qualified to get your brother out-now stop it.”

“NO.” You needed one of them to at least stay away from this god damned place. “I just need you to stay here. Please. You know how this ended. I’m not taking any chances by letting you go back there.”

The both of you argue for a good while until you come to an agreement: He expects you to convince your roommate to go with you. With that you hang up and prepare for your trip with some necessary phone calls, knowing full well you’ll be leaving some important projects behind, such as the renovations on your house.

Now with everything settled, it is time to make the flying arrangements. Just thinking about returning there makes you feel as if the place will swallow you whole.

* * *

You calmly shuffle through people as you collect your bags. A car is already outside waiting for you and Stephanie is walking by your side, half asleep as you had found an extremely early flight.

When you get to your hotel, she plops herself on one of the beds and goes to sleep in a matter of minutes. You decide to head out and get some food and coffee for the both of you. And when you return, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes her from her slumber.

As you both eat, Stephanie is switching through channels on the small television, trying to find something that is slightly amusing to watch. The closest you come to is a game show. As she bites into her breakfast sandwich, she looks over to you and she waves a hand to catch your attention. “Yeah?”

“So, are you going to tell me why this is an emergency?” She has tried getting more details from you before and you simply used your ‘strict’ father as an excuse. “I mean, he’s twenty-one. What’s the big deal?”

“Well for starters, he supposed to be attending his classes, seeing as he is still under dad’s roof. Their deal was: he needed to be doing _something_ while living at home. Otherwise he would’ve gotten kicked out. Now he left without saying much of anything so dad is pissed. And now I’m the mediator.”

“Well I guess I can see why it would be a problem. He hasn’t committed to a major in school yet and now he is choosing to go on a little _vacay_ on daddy’s dime.” You nod in agreement.

In an effort to help your sour mood, she changes subject. “Is there anything we can do while we’re here? I mean, might as well have a little fun.”

“It’s not as eventful as LA.” _At least not that kind of eventful._

 _“_ Don’t you guys have that little get away up in the mountains?” Your old house. It remains vacant as it was never sold. You father has zero intention for anyone to move in when things get out of hand. Even so, it still holds a lot of fond memories for you. “We can always throw a little party,” she scoots over to your side and elbows you. “How ‘bout it?”

“How little?” You’re willing to humor her a little. She had agreed to come on such short notice after all. But more than anything you didn’t want her to feel like there is any danger.

However, you remember something important. The fact that a lot of what starts the chaos, is traced back to Arklay Mountains. And your little cabin get-away-as it is now known-is located in those mountains.

“Just a few people, and if not, I mean we could do a number on the place and have our own little private girls party,” she says.

“I’m pretty sure the place is covered in webs,” you say and she immediately scowls at the thought of spiders living anywhere near her. But you try to remedy the situation by meeting her half way. “I know some good bars we can go to.”

“Now that’s my girl!” She wraps her arms around you and plants a kiss right on your cheek. You tease her with a little jab to her side and she squeals.

Spirits are high but you are an internal mess; and you’re trying to keep as calm as possible. You shake those plaguing thoughts away, and you start with the basics and call your brother’s cell.

No answer.

You try his pager next, hoping something will get his attention. You put your pager away and decide that tonight would be the night to go out; get Stephanie’s excitement out of the way and maybe you’ll hear back from Michael soon.

* * *

The bar is swimming in cigarette smoke, bikers, and casually dressed policemen. You’d think one of these groups would show worry for the other, but it seems like they are in a neutral zone. Everyone is lost in mature discussions, drunken laughter, and blaring heavy metal.

You are trying not to think about that fire in your lungs, and how just one drag might be harmless. You weren’t so gracious in your old life. You loved to smoke, but it was one of the many things you actively changed when you awoke nine years ago. Still, the nerves that are eating away at you are not showing any hint of going away, and usually a cigarette tended to help. But you steel yourself and continue to anxiously tap your foot.

The fact that you know who is in this bar is of course owed to your experience at R.P.D. You hadn’t intended to see them, and you knew that there wasn’t much activity on Sunday nights so seeing them here now felt like some kind of sick joke. You take partial blame however, seeing as how you could’ve chosen a different bar.

Richard Aiken, a current S.T.A.R.S member, comes with drinks in hand and gives a quick wink before settling down with his own. Marvin Branagh is dressed down to a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and boots which you weren’t used to seeing him in. He’s smiling away as a couple of his friends are talking shit to each other during a game of pool. Eventually, he turns towards you, gives a ‘cheers’ and partakes in some liquid courage. You smile back, a little embarrassed that he caught you staring.

You notice Jill Valentine at the bar ordering away, meanwhile Chris is taking a seat next to Richard. More people join the party and pull up chairs and find space around the couple of tables they’ve all occupied. Meanwhile, Stephanie is leaning in to you, giving complaints over the music choice as it transitions to grunge. You don’t mind. This place used to be a favorite of yours. It was incredibly strange to sit here and act as if you are a new patron. Luckily you didn’t have to act too much, your nerves help you look more out of your element.

“Buy you a drink?” You turn and watch as Joseph Frost is taking a seat next to Stephanie at the bar. He catches your eye and gives you a quick wave and you look to your friend who is seated between you two. She gives you a little look of uncertainty. From what you remember, he wasn’t a bad guy at all. A little rough around the edges but he was otherwise respectful to you in your limited encounters. You give her a small smile of encouragement. _Have fun._

“Sure thing,” she smiles back at him and entertains the new company. But suddenly you’re feeling a little more like the third wheel. Even so, you knew things wouldn’t progress much further for Stephanie where she would leave you to hook up with strangers. Despite her outgoing personality, she was actually one to move slow and steady in the dating department, and was keen on making her partners wait before any physical intimacy.

You lean back with your elbows on the bar and just take a moment to look around. It took everything for you not to look over at the table the was occupied by rowdy police officers. You wanted to catch up with everyone, especially Marvin. You are trying to ease drop, and you could hear pieces of conversation not to your liking as someone drops a ‘Ah-fuck the Chief’ and you feel that through every bit of your body as you remember that disgusting man. And you feel a wave of memories hit you:

_“(Y/N)!” You stopped in your tracks as Marvin caught up to you. You quickly scrubbed away at your cheeks, desperate to remove the evidence of your tears. But nothing could remove the heavy redness of your eyes. “What happened?”_

_“It’s nothing.” You searched through your overly stuffed bag for your tissue pack. Instead your hand found the pack of smokes you relished during breaks. “Just going out for a smoke.”_

_Without instruction, Marvin followed you out. He took a smoke you offered and you both stood in silence-not uncomfortable, just content in each other’s company. You wanted to return to your post and give the Chief an earful. Even more so you wanted to grab his overly expensive vase and smash it on his large head._

_You peek over at Marvin, and he is staring up at the clouds. You could smell the rain that was threatening to trickle down on the pair of you. “H-how do you deal with someone like the Chief,” you asked, a little defeated._

_“I ignore him as best as I can.” With your silence he gave an apologetic look as he knew very well that ignoring him wasn’t an option for you, not when you were working more as a personal assistant than a less overburdened secretary. With a worried sigh he began his questioning, “What happened?”_

_You thought about how to answer, and you recalled the thing that took the Chief’s mood to a turn for the worst. He had always been rotten, but never on a physical level._

_R.P.D. was looking more and more like a joke to the public as bodies kept surfacing, with no real progression to finding the killer. What was more horrid was the thought that it was possible that it was a group rather than an individual; that had you running to buy some pepper spray as soon as you could._

_The Chief was losing his mind. He was taking it out on everyone, but you were bearing the worst of it. His insults had turned into threats. His new hobby involved shoving you around and making terrible remarks over your outfits. He particularly found it amusing trying to test you at every opportunity, especially over the extremely intricate preparation of his coffee. If it wasn’t prepared just right, he made sure your clothes matched his mood as he soaked your limited work wardrobe with his cup of joe. Today was no different, except he despised how you dodged the cup this time. He grabbed you by the arms and shook you, making you endure his wrath as he yelled in your face; his spit marking you and his breath nauseating you._

_“He’s getting a bit 'handsy'.” Dread started to overtake Marvin’s features. “N-nothing of a sexual nature…but I’m apparently to blame for every little inconvenience. He thinks pushing me around will make me work faster…” There was more of course, but you kept most of it to yourself._

_“Were you in view of any cameras?” A question you weren’t expecting, but you felt confident you knew where Marvin was going with this._

_“No.”_

_“Well, I’m sure I can rub some shoulders and get something a little more appetizing for the media.”_

_“Think that’ll work?”_

_“He’s fucking us all over. We need him out.” You nodded as you replayed more of his more public outbursts._

_“I might have to quit," you said._

_Marvin’s gaze had turned to the ground. “If you quit, I don’t think we’ll make it through this chaos.”_

_“Oh please-”_

_“I mean it. You’re our spot of sunshine.” You smiled at his words. It was true that you had felt like you had found another family at R.P.D. But you could only put up with so much shit from your boss._

_“I’ll stay if you help me take the Chief down.” You smiled as your lips wrapped around the cigarette. He finished his off and crushed it under his shoe._

_“I will do anything to take him down. Of course, it’s better for you to stay away and stay safe. Yes, we’ll miss you but I won’t let this shit go on. However, it could take some time.” He looked over to you; a silent question hanging in the air: Were you okay with that? Were you willing endure the time and effort needed to gather enough dirt on the man to get him out and behind bars?_

_A puff of smoke leaves you. Your words were dark but laced with a sort of sweetness as you laugh at the prospect of ruining the Chief’s life. “Anything to see him broken.”_

_Marvin looks at his watch and you felt the conversation coming to an end. “I knew we’re busy right now, but I’m not going to let him lay his hands on you anymore. For however long you stay, don’t stay by his side for too long. I’ll get a spare desk and you can work in the West Office. And if you feel like anything might happen, please get one of us. You have friends here.”_

_“Busy is right.” You knew that they wouldn’t have time to protect you. “But I’ll do what I can to stay out of his sight unless absolutely necessary…”_

_“We will protect you. And besides, I think if you let a certain someone in on it, he’d be willing to pull a few strings himself.”_

_“A certain someone?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, act like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”_

_“I really don’t know what you mean.” Your entire face was burning._

_“I think everyone knows about you and the-”_

“Captain!?” Your head snaps at attention. “Holy shit. It is you!” You look over to Chris who is extremely amused over the new company.

“Fuck.” You swing around your bar stool and look to the bartender and wave a finger for his attention.

“Sit, sit.” Another officer joins in and welcomes their guest who presented them with the surprise of a lifetime. You understood their confusion very well. _Captain Wesker_ wasn’t one to join outings.

“Vodka.” The bartender hardly acknowledges you but he is quick with your order. When you receive your glass, you take a large drink and groan as the drink gives just a little burn as it flows through you. You could order something worse like tequila, but you preferred beer-if you are being honest with yourself. So, this is enough of stepping out of the box for you.

As for the present company, you would have been absolutely thrilled had it been your original timeline, but your body is instead prepping for either flight or fight. Flashes of the pale man come to you. You think you can feel the pain of a blade jabbed into your chest again. You taste metallic and bile. His face-the memory-was blurry now, owed to your many attempts to delete such a horrid encounter. You feel the tears threatening to escape. It is all coming too fast.

There are times when you didn’t want to believe it was him. But seeing him now, felt…like there is little room for doubt.

“You alright?” Stephanie immediately picks up on your strange choice of drink and she has her hand on your back, rubbing away while attempting to comfort you.

“Just a little out of breath.” She continues to rub small circles on your back. The one person more suited to helping you through actual panic attacks is your brother. But you feel grateful enough to Stephanie; you attempt a smile.

“I’m going to go out for a smoke,” you say without realizing how odd that would sound to her, but the words had already left you and your hands are digging for something that isn’t there. You walk quickly towards your exit and try your best to avoid the glances that would naturally come your way.

You stand in place for a moment, your gaze is fixed down as you wait for the ridiculously tall figure to enter the establishment completely, but the bastard is blocking the entrance.

“E-excuse me,” you say. _You think you say_ , but nothing is changing. It seems the music is louder on this side of the bar. He doesn’t move. Even if he didn’t hear you, clearly the person looking confused as to where to go would be enough of a hint that maybe they need to get through the door. “Excuse me,” you say a little louder this time, and there is no mistaking his acknowledgement as he quirks his brow at you.

_That’s just like you, you fucking asshole._

He always knew how to push your buttons. Looks like the flow of time hadn’t rippled enough for him to change these subtle habits. So, you do what your body craves. You push him out of the way. Your frame does not meet muscle mass but instead meets the sudden and successful movement that creates your path to freedom. Looks like his guard was down. And if people hadn’t noticed you before, they do now.

“Hey, watch it!” You turn around and stare at the person yelling. Chris Redfield is staring you down, looking like he is ready to chew you out. “You need to work on your fucking manners,” he snaps at you.

You are just in complete shock over his words. This man who you’ve included in your extensive runs for food and coffee. This man whose eagerness for advice constantly distracted you from your tasks-and you listened anyways because there was no harm in helping. And this _god damn punk_ is now talking down to you as if you’re a fucking teenager. 

“ _Oh-I’m sorry_ , was I blocking the way? Or was I waiting for the goliath to move so I could take a little smoke break?” Now everyone is standing up.

 _What the fuck-are they going to jump me?!_ The are looking more and more like strangers.

“Hey leave her alone!” Stephanie is running towards you. Joseph is following but keeping a distance, more amused. _Sure, take a seat while you’re at it. Shall I get you some popcorn too, Joseph?_

“What’s your problem?” Chris is stomping towards you and you are meeting him step for step. Luckily people are finally pulling him back as Stephanie holds on to your arms.

“Apparently _you’re_ my fucking problem.” Stephanie is pleading for you to stop but you are just so furious, and it doesn’t help that the man who makes your flesh rise with goosebumps is standing behind you, arms crossed and silent-of course.

“What? You looking for a sparring match?”

“Shut it, Chris,” you practically spit at him. Chris reasonably looks a little confused and annoyed as you say his name.

“You know her, Chris?” Jill is cutting in now, but she looks just as amused at the prospect of witnessing a spat between exes, which you are not of course.

“How could I not when he is so fucking loud?” You answer for him and hope it’s a good enough response for your slip up.

“Enough already, both of you!” Marvin is cutting in and has his hands out and blocking both of yours and Chris’ view. “Listen Miss, I’m sorry about Chris here, I think we’ve all had a little too much to drink. Let me call you a cab and get you home where it’s safe.” Drunk was not the problem. You didn’t even have a buzz.

“Fine,” you relax your shoulders and you turn away. Chris is pushed back by another friend of his. You look over to Wesker, who is keeping a small enough grin for you to catch. Looks like he was looking for something to entertain him. Perhaps he moved on purpose when you pushed. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

“-What? I’m not the one being a crazy bitch!” He’s yelling back at someone.

He was often a gentleman to you. And as much as his remark was said out of anger, you couldn’t help but stay frozen in place. Everything in your new life had gone too smoothly anyways; it’s bound to happen at some point, right? Although what you are feeling is a fire that is tempting you into continuing this altercation-and you had a bit of an epiphany: He is either just a man whom you either never knew in the first place, or just simply turned out for the worst this time around.

And your thoughts must be painted clearly on your features, as Chris starts laughing. He’s just standing there _laughing at you_.

You move before you realize it. All of that practice is doing you wonders as you move quick and precise; all while avoiding bumping into anyone. You just want _him._ And when you reach him, you land a beautiful right hook to his jaw. Clean and precise. Unnecessary? Definitely. But damn does it feel good.

He has the nerve to look shocked. He wipes at his lip, as he recovers quickly. He beckons you with his finger, daring you to try it again. You don’t want to fall for the bait but before you can turn around, he has his arms around you. You’re able to stomp a heel to his toe and he lets out a little groan of pain, but he is tying to keep you close.

You’re using every bit of strength you have but he is stupidly strong. He gets a foot right under your leg and sweeps it. Your back hits the ground and you let out a pained groan as he pins you down. Before anything can progress however, another set of arms grabs you and pulls as Chris relinquishes you without a fight. Captain Wesker is now putting your rigid body on his shoulder and is on his way to forcing your exit.

“Alright, that’s enough. Show's over,” he quiets his team down and gives a nod towards Marvin, and proceeds to walk out of the building with you. Stephanie is caught up trying to yell at Chris some more in your defense, but Marvin makes his way over to try and calm her down as well.

Your tears are coming down relentlessly. His hands are like fire on your skin as you desperately try to wiggle off of his shoulder. He shows no sign of letting go and instead tightens his grip on your flesh. He is the last person you want touching you. You think back on that night when you died. You half expect him to remember too, and wait for him to finish the job and dump your body somewhere your family will never be able to recover you from.

“Please put me down.” You let that fear overtake you and you beg for your freedom with a soft and gentle voice.

He sets you down, but as he does your sense of relief is short lived, and he starts going through the motions for your arrest. Cold handcuffs are placed on you and you whine as the cold metal touches your skin. You shouldn’t feel surprised, as you know that this is unavoidable. You had put your hands on someone else, after all. Still, you can’t shake the shock of how quickly everything occurred.

You look the Captain over and realize he didn’t show up in casual clothes. He is dressed in his blues, and was clearly still on duty. He was probably at the bar for business purposes.

He opens the back door for you to enter and Stephanie pops out in time to see what is occurring. As you take your seat, you tune everything out and you can’t hear what anyone is saying. 


	3. Chapter 3

As you wait in your cell, you can't help but admit you are slightly amused. You never really got to experience this part of the police department and the only time you saw the actual holding cells was during your tour at orientation. Now you get to experience something new. _Guess that’s exciting_.

You try to remain a little positive. You got to vent out some serious frustration and anger so you don’t feel much else at the moment. You were wrong of course, but you think back on all those times you simply did nothing and the trouble would build up in different ways. This was a consequence for sure, but at least you had an interesting story to add to your list of crazy.

As for Wesker, he was quiet during that drive. At least he was professional for most of the booking. But you had to keep to yourself and avoid his gaze which was not very well hidden under those shades of his.

You decide that a quiet mantra would help pass the time. _I’ll be leaving soon._

It was rather successful and before you know it someone is already back to retrieve you from your cell. Your bail is apparently paid and you are now finding yourself free and soaking in the warm breeze that hits you when you exit the building.

Stephanie is waiting for you, and you pause for a moment and take in her scary form. She is holding on to both her purse and yours as she waits with pursed lips; an angry tapping of her foot; and an avoidable scolding that will soon be released onto you.

“Hey…” You awkwardly wave.

“Really (Y/N)?”

“Oh god Steph, I don’t know what to say. I’m so fucking sorry.” You drop to your knees and have your hands placed together as if in prayer, begging for forgiveness.

“We’ll see what happens to you later ‘cause of your little stunt.” She pinches your arm.

“I know, I fucked up. I'll pay you back immediately.” You feel like a child now.

"No need, I used your cash." You suddenly can't help the laugh that escapes you. 

"Alright. That's fair." She is grinning at you and you are already feeling better. "I'll behave from here on out."

“I know you will, you crazy bastard.” Stephanie reaches down for you and helps you back on your feet.

You brush the bit of dust off your knees. As you look down, you are now experiencing more embarrassment as you realize that your current outfit was not the best choice to fight in; even worse not one to be picked up in.

Now you had the humiliation of an arrest; the mocking of your former coworkers; and your blue summer dress bunched up to your waist as Wesker displayed your choice of cotton pink panties when he took you outside. You bring a hand to your face and drag your skin down as you sulk away at the recollection.

“Come on, let’s go and rest up. I already bought beer; I’m ordering pizza; and we are going to find a good movie to watch if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You’re the best, Steph!” You link your arm with hers.

“I know.” She has a little skip to her step now and you find yourself having to do the same just to keep up with her.

“Does dad know?” you ask.

“Hell no.” You don’t say anything else. 

* * *

There is an abrupt banging on the door. Stephanie pops out of the bathroom, foaming at the mouth with a toothbrush in hand.

“Jeshus, wha di you do NOW?” she asks between brushing.

“Nothing!” you swear to her as you set aside the magazine you were looking through. You’ve already had your time in the bathroom, so you were lounging around in your robe and left your soaking hair to air dry. Considering your state the stranger outside the hotel room was certainly not welcomed during this early hour.

You take a look through the peephole and curse under your breath as you see a not so sweet Chris Redfield in full uniform waiting for you on the other side. Another knock makes you jump away a little, causing you to bite your tongue.

“Mother fucker.” You swing the door open and try to ignore the pain, standing as imposing as possible while Chris looks you up and down.

“Hey, hulk hands.”

_HULK HANDS?_

“Please tell me you aren’t back for more.” You point to your own jaw as you notice the bruising on his.

A sarcastic smile spreads across his face before he continues. “I’m here on business. We’d like to ask you some questions back at the station.”

“ _We?_ A S.T.A.R.S member has to question a civilian? Don’t you guys have bigger things to worry about?” You make a show of pointing at his badge. You didn't realize how hard it is trying to act ignorant of their job.

“Got something bigger to tell me about?”

“Well no,” _nothing I can prove._ “What’s this about?”

“It’s about a case we are working on. It should hold a certain value for you considering how it involves your brother.” You can’t contain the feeling of dread now hitting you. But Chris ignores the look of concern you have and continues.

“Anyways, I was told to fetch you, so here I am. Let’s go.”

“Nuh ugh. You’re going to wait. I still need to finish getting ready and I need food ‘pronto*.’ Got it?”

“Fine, get dolled up if you want but make it quick and I’ll get you some Mcdees.” You start to cringe.

“I want a real breakfast.”

“And I want to go back and get on with my real job; not babysitting.”

You glare at him for a moment before you open the door completely for him. “Make yourself at home.” You don’t wait for him to enter the room, instead you go through your suitcase for some clothes.

You enter the bathroom to a crouching Stephanie, who is- you assume–trying to hide.

“They have some questions for me apparently,” you say nonchalantly. 

“I swear to all that is holy, please tell me you didn’t do anything else?”

“I swear.” 

You get ready in silence. Your outfit for the day is a simple black dress with short sleeves and a crew neck. Your black boots are knee high with a tall heel. Your makeup is simple with the splash of color reserved for your lips as you use a deep red shade.

When you exit the bathroom, you find Stephanie awkwardly sitting on the couch by the window, desperately trying to avoid Chris’ attention as she flips through your worn magazine. Her blonde hair is practically covering her face. Chris is looking at the T.V. but it’s clear he has no interest in the collection of heavy metal ballads that is being promoted. He looks over to you and his eyes widen just slightly to regard you. You aren’t sure if he is judging your attire or not. Regardless, you had already settled on this outfit before he showed up, so you weren't going to overthink a wardrobe change.

“McDonald’s was it?” you ask.

“I strive to give the best.” You huff and stomp away towards the door, yelling your goodbye to Stephanie before making your exit.

And he did come through on his offer, you are sitting in the passenger side of his car with a bag of food that you are awkwardly shuffling through to hand him his hash browns. Chris eats through his food rather quickly, while you settle for your apple pie you ordered, not really craving anything on the menu. Soon, you are left to collect the trash and you throw it all in the main bag your orders came in.

“You can leave that on the floor for now.”

“Kay…” You move your legs around to make room for the bag, your heels making it difficult to move around comfortably.

“Got a date later?” he asks.

“What?”

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?”

You look down at your outfit. “I need a reason to wear these?”

“Most people don’t dress to impress when they are getting questioned.”

“Well not like it’s any of your business, but I wear what I like, when I like.”

“Worked really well for you yesterday.” You can feel the rush of blood from your neck to your cheeks and you are about to scream. You take a couple of deep breaths and consider your words before speaking.

“Look, I get if you’re trying to jab at me ‘cause you’re angry. I don’t have an excuse for putting my hands on you, so I'm sorry.” You look out the window, trying to conceal your face which at any moment could betray you and reveal your embarrassment.

“Think you’ll get out of trouble if you apologize?”

_Are you kidding me?_

“I’m already in trouble no matter what. And that’s for the prosecutor to decide. Anyways, I apologize to _you_. But I’m not sorry for getting mad in the first place. I gave the other guy a chance to do the gentlemanly thing and step aside.”

“So, you push my boss instead of keeping your cool.” He hits the breaks as he gets a little too close to the car in front of him, causing you to jolt forward. You huff away as you start to feel the sting of the seat belt against your neck.

“You acted as if I stabbed him,” you say as you massage your neck.

“He’s just the wrong person to be messing with. You are lucky people were around.”

“That doesn't sound creepy _at all_.”

A smug laugh escapes him. “I don’t mean it like that. But he is good at his job. But he is a nightmare for people who refuse to cooperate.”

“Did I look like I wasn’t cooperating when he dragged my ass out?” He was laughing some more. You bite down on your lip as you do your best not to curse him out. “You know what, I’ll save my talking for when we get to the station.”

Chris gives you a small shrug and continues to drive without commenting. He turns up the radio in an attempt to ease the unbearable tension.

The agonizing drive eventually comes to an end. You let yourself out without waiting for Chris who is rushing behind. “Wait up.” He reaches for your arm but you avoid his touch.

“I know where to go.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes.”

“You a regular?”

“Something like that.”

“Well I still have to escort you.” You continue to ignore him and make your way to the main hall.

The check in was quick. Not much activity going on in the station. You don’t see many familiar faces as you assume everyone is actually doing their job. As respectable as that was you couldn’t help that temptation to make amends with the whole group. But to them, you were just a random person-potentially unstable.

Chris escorts you- and by escort it’s really just you leading the way by remaining a few steps ahead of him. You find your way through the East side of the building until you are led down a staircase to the interrogation room. Even though you knew where this area was, you never had the pleasure of entering one of the rooms down this hall.

Chris finally moves ahead of you and knocks before letting you in. Inside, Captain Wesker is leaning against the wall, taking a sip from a small paper cup. He doesn’t give you a friendly greeting, instead he gestures to the seat across the table. You don’t waste time and you sit without question.

“(Y/N) Reyes, this is Captain Wesker. I’m sure you remember him.” You look over to Chris and give him a blank look.

Chris makes his exit and salutes you as he is finally getting rid of you; like a troublesome child being left to the mercy of the daycare workers. You scowl at him before he leaves. 

As you look around the room, the walls and floor are a plain and dull gray. Of course, there is a two-way mirror but you aren’t sure if you are the type of person whom they would need to keep an eye on from the other side. Wesker takes the seat across from you and folds his hands together.

He is still in his blue S.T.A.R.S uniform and his hair is slicked back without a single loose strand. His sunglasses are something you got used to long ago. Watching him sort through the yellow folders only further encourages you to observe all of his small details. When you look at the muscle of his exposed forearm, you feel the enticing pull to go back to the time before all of the violence; the time when you had experienced the thrill of seeing this man undone with you begging for release as he delighted in the pleasure of seeing you under his complete control.

But now you were under his complete control for another reason. And you have half a mind to find something to protect yourself with. The chances of you attacking and you making it out alive were probably non-existent. You prepared as best as you could when it came to self-defense, but you never planned on coming back to Raccoon City.

Wesker clears his throat and you feel a little tremor vibrate through you. You can’t help but hold your hands together under the table, hating the feeling of sweat in your palms.

“Now Miss Reyes, I don’t suppose Mr. Redfield has given you much insight as to why you’re here?”

“He mentioned it involves my brother, somehow.” He opens the folders and looks through some paperwork.

“Yes, and we understand that he wasn’t in your life for a long time. You both are adopted, correct?” You nod. “Are you two close?” You nod again. “And so, would you be confident enough to tell me if your brother was involved in anything unbecoming?

“Unbecoming?”

“Criminal.”

“No,” you say with confidence because to your knowledge this was true.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Wesker scratches at his temple for a moment until he decides to pull out a photo from his stack of papers.

“Is this your brother?” You look over the black and white photograph and see you brother leaving a vehicle. He’s in front of what looks to be an entrance to a business-perhaps a hotel.

“It is.” He pulls out another picture. This time it’s your brother having a conversation with an unknown woman. Looks like a date if you were being honest. “What are you getting at with this?” Wesker places another photo but this time there are larger men and they look to be guiding him someplace.

“These people your brother has been associating with are rather dangerous, Miss. Reyes. Known smugglers. Famous for a wide distribution of certain _contraband.”_

“And you can just share that much info with me?”

He ignores the question. “Have you seen him?”

“I have not.”

“But you’re here in Raccoon City. I see most of you live in California.” You debate whether you should just say you were on vacation. But lying could prove to make your situation worse.

“I was looking for him.”

“And why were you looking for him?”

“Because he has other obligations in life. He is playing run away even though he is an adult but we have to hold him accountable, especially when my dad is paying for his education.”

“Ah yes, Abraham Reyes, correct? What does he do?”

“Why is that important?” you snap back.

“Because I deem it so. What does he do?” With his elbows on the desk, he leans in and rests his chin on his hands.

“He’s a body guard.” You fold your arms as if they could somehow shield you.

“Is he in town? I would like to question him.” He doesn’t move from his spot.

“No. He should be getting ready to travel on business again.”

“A body guard who travels?”

“Yes.” You lean away as much as your chair allows you.

“Rather peculiar.”

“Not really. His clients are more ‘high class,’ if you will.”

“And are you in the same business Miss Reyes?”

“No.”

“What do you do?” You roll your eyes.

“Again, why do you need to know? It looks to me you have the info already with the way you’re asking stuff.” He is grinning now, and your worrying is growing into panic.

“You make money off the stock market?” You nod in agreement.

“You family seems really well off.” You don’t respond.

“And tell me Miss Reyes, what happened to your _husband_?” You can’t tell what your face looks like. It could be fury, it could be anguish, but what is certain now is that Wesker was trying to get a rise out of you and you didn’t know why it was necessary.

None of it mattered. The past nine years have only helped you to learn some skills but you are now in the lion’s den. You and your father made sure your family stayed away from the city, but now things were different in a way that made your former advantages crumble away like dust. You knew the big events, but you realize now that what would undue you were not monsters, but this man. Once again, he was going to unmake you, and this time around he is gunning for your reputation, and you are now tempted to tell him to just get it over with and take you out of the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pronto- Promptly;quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**1993**

You were on your hands and knees, and your hair was soaked enough that people could have safely assumed you had just endured a torrent of rain. Unfortunately, it was sweat. Your lungs burned as you struggled for air.

“Get up,” an aged but firm voice spoke out to you. You didn’t bother to look up at them, you kept your eyes downcast. They were only a few inches away from you, and you were the only one to hear his demands. “They’re all watching you.”

You pushed through the soreness of your legs, bringing yourself back on your feet one leg at a time. You looked across at piercing grey eyes.

“You must see this through to the end. Take responsibility,” he said.

_Take responsibility._

Flashes come and go. Blinding fragments from the past: Blood; snarling teeth; screaming… _their_ screaming; a locked bloodied door; an appendage reaching out.

_It stopped._

You felt calm again. You could do it. You had to.

* * *

**1998**

“What happened to your husband?”

You don’t humor that question too much, your answer is quick.

“He died. He was sick. Not that it’s relevant.” The Captain just stares at you, he seems almost annoyed.

“Why do you care? You’re wasting time and you are worried about things that could easily be handled by the other officers.”

“I have my orders. And if you think that the presence of a drug cartel in the city isn’t cause for concern, then I wonder what else-besides your common sense-has rotted away with all the sweetness and luxury a rich life has caused.”

“I think we’re done here, Captain.” You stand up.

“I’ll say when we’re done,” he says.

“Oh please. You brought me in here just to make a mockery of me! You already have a trail on my brother based on those pictures; you don’t need _me_. And I don’t like what you’re suggesting about my family. You’re wrong, and I’d appreciate it if you leave them out of this!”

Wesker doesn’t say anything but he stands up and walks over to the door to let you out, and you follow immediately. He opens it slowly and holds a hand out, allowing you your freedom from his company. Except when you take one step, he shuts the door.

You back away from him, absolutely terrified to the bone. “Again? Really?” Your voice is low but he hears you well enough.

“Again? Ah…the bar. Well I was curious to see what you would do,” he gives you a sinister smile and steadily makes his way to you. “Truthfully, I went there looking for you. Had you behaved, we could’ve gotten the questioning out of the way yesterday.”

“You knew I was there? Yeah-okay.” You wave him off.

“I did. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. A little bird had tipped me off that you were there.” His stride is calm and he gets close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Don’t leave town Miss Reyes.”

_I have to be dreaming. Maybe I never came back to life. Maybe I’ve been in hell this whole time._

He steps away from you and opens the door again. You pause before he beckons you to leave. This time he lets you. When you make your exit, Chris is waiting for you, arms crossed and leaning against the wall.

“Do you really have to be here?” You start walking past him.

“I can’t let you wander the station alone, Hulk Hands.”

“Call me that _one_ more time, Redfield.” He ignores you. You are so close to grabbing him by the collar so you could shake some answers out of him. All you wanted was to understand why he became so unbearably cocky.

_Who am I kidding? I’m no better…Get a grip, (Y/N)._

He takes the lead this time and before you know it, you’re being led out into the parking garage. And he is leading you to his car.

“What are you doing?” you say even more cautious now.

“I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

“No need. I’ll get a cab.”

“Stop being stubborn. I won’t bother you.” For once you see something familiar. He was being genuine in his offer.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I’m on lunch.” You look at your clock and it was close to eleven.

“Well please eat something better than that trash.” You start opening the passenger side to his vehicle and plop yourself back on to the leather seat.

The ride this time isn’t too difficult to endure. Your mind is so busy recalling past events and the most recent development with Wesker, that you barely notice Chris stopping at a gas station. When he makes his return, he throws something on your lap. You lift up the red and white box covered in plastic. It was a pack of Marlboro Reds.

You sigh. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

Chris looks at you like you just punched him again. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” You smirk.

“Then what was all that fuss about yesterday?”

“I used to smoke, but then I quit… It was a moment of weakness.”

“You going cold turkey? Because you were acting like you were done dealing with the withdrawals”

You hold the pack towards him. “Wanna get your money back?”

“Nah, just hold on to them.”

“So you’re an enabler now?”

“No! I just-”

“You know what? I’ll keep it as a sign of our truce.”

“You’re calling truce? Who says I want that?”

You look at him with complete disbelief. Your hand squeezes around the pack of cigarettes, but you stop before completely ruining the shape of the box. “You’re fucking confusing.”

He gives you a small smile and starts the ignition. You stuff the pack into your purse and do your best not to reach in and at least take off the plastic.

* * *

When Chris arrives at the hotel, he chooses to park instead of simply driving up for a simple drop off. You turn towards him and raise your eyebrow at him.

“Look, Wesker wasn’t lying to you in there.” You start to groan at the sound of his name. You don’t remember Chris being such a kiss ass either. “Our Chief insisted on our involvement with this case. The only other thing I can say is if you see your brother, maybe you can convince him to talk to us. It should benefit him; a little quid pro quo, if you will.”

“Are you implying you need an informant?”

“That’s not a bad idea. Thank you for that,” he says sarcastically.

“Buh bye now,” you release the buckle at your side and collect your belongings. You don’t turn to see what reaction Chris has but you raise a hand up anyway to wave as you head inside.

When you return to the room, Stephanie isn’t there. A note is left on the bedside table for you:

**_Out shopping. Should be back by five so don’t worry too much. Page me if you need anything. -Steph_ **

You leave the note as is and take a seat on your bed. You rummage through your bag for the large cell phone that occupies too much room in there. You give your brother another call, with no answer. Without much choice, you leave your message, same as before. You kept your voice cool and collected since the last thing you wanted to do was to scare him off if he really was getting into some shady business.

As you lay back on to the rough bed, you find yourself slipping away into afternoon dreams…

The sound of the pager is enough to pull you back from a short nap. When you check the number, you don’t recognize it. You decide to take a chance anyways and punch the numbers in on your cell. The ringing continues for a bit until it stops, and you are greeted with what sounds like panting.

“(Y/N)?”

“Michael?” You’re at attention now, and you rise up to your bare feet and immediately start pacing around the room. “Where have you been?”

“(Y/N), I need you to send someone to pick me up.”

“Pick you up? From where?”

“I-I need help.”

“What’s going on?”

“No!” You feel a shiver down your spine as he snaps at you.

“What do you mean _no_?”

“I’m…I can’t say right now. I need someone to get me. Maybe dad, but he hasn’t answered my calls.”

“Michael, I’m in Raccoon City.” He is dead silent.

“…You’re here…” his trembling voice sounds almost in agony. You hear him choking up to what you assume to be a sob; he’s holding back. “Please come get me.”

“Should I call the cops?”

“No cops.” His voice is sterner this time. “I mean it, (Y/N).”

“But if you’re in trouble they can help.”

“I SAID NO.” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep from yelling in response.

“Alright then. I need an address.”

“I don’t know where I am.” The painful sob he was holding in has now broken through like water breaking through a dam. His cries of pain are patterned throughout moments of stopping, replaced by the sounds of the phone hitting something.

“Michael, I need you to calm down for me, okay? Where are you calling from? Is it a payphone?”

“Yes.”

“Okay there is no way there aren’t road signs anywhere. If you’re having trouble, give me some places I can use as landmarks.” He gives you a hushed ‘okay’ and continues naming a couple of roads that unfortunately aren’t familiar to you. However, he describes the neighborhood and the biggest clue you had was a church right in the middle of these houses.

“Michael. Why don’t you go and knock on some doors and ask them where you are?”

“I don’t want _them_ to find me.” You want to dig for more details but you could feel the urgency that he might be on a time limit.

“Just knock on that fucking church! They should be able to help you. Better yet, they’ll probably let you stay in there until I come and get you!”

He abandons the phone for a moment and the only thing you are able to understand is him cursing out some stranger for trying to use the phone. Your mind is put to ease with his return.

“They’ll let me stay. Here is the address.” _THANK YOU._

“Okay, do not move from there. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.” You can feel him relax as a sigh leaves him before you hang up.

You rush over to grab your bag and slip on a pair of flip flops. You then leave a very hastily written note for Stephanie that you were going out for a bit as well. You hope your handwriting is passable but at this point you barely remember to stuff your room key into the purse before heading out.

The ride there takes about fifteen minutes. The driver is going through his recommended destinations for tourists, to which you humor with follow up questions. Even as a smile is plastered on your face, you can feel your cheeks ache as the insincerity of your manner finally takes its toll. You’d rather sit through a soundless drive, but your driver is apparently in a cheery mood.

The niceties prove helpful when you arrive in front of the church as you request for him to wait a few minutes to return. He gives you a thumbs up before he turns his attention to his radio.

When you walk up, you observe the church before you and it is rather charming with its smaller size and surrounding garden. The path you are following shows handprints cemented in by who you assume to be children. The path veers off to the right to a small segregated garden and a sign displaying the names of volunteers that helped care for the surrounding plant life.

You continue to go straight to the rich brown doors and attempt to enter discreetly. They swing slowly and you find yourself using both hands to push the heavy doors open. The inside is as expected, with sculptures of angels and the Virgin Mary; you see stained glass windows that allow an array of colors to spill into the building. There are displays of holy water, and with your experience from a young age, you dip your fingers into one of the bowls and sign from your forehead to your stomach, to your shoulders. It was odd doing that after so long but it felt stranger not to.

You don’t see anyone at first, but when you walk down the aisle, you finally notice a figure sitting close to the altar. You squint for a better view and you can now tell that it's Michael, hunching down and looking absolutely distressed. When you walk up to him, he jumps at the sight of your approaching figure, but immediately relaxes when confirming your presence.

“Let’s go.” You were not going to get your answers here. You wanted to secure his safety first.

Without saying anything he stands up and for a brief moment he checks that the zipper on his jacket is all the way up. Of course, it’s too warm for such attire but you had to let that slide too. He hooks an arm around yours and allows you to lead him out.

The sound of footsteps behind you stops you in your tracks, but you turn to see a Priest confirming your exit. “Thank you, Father.” You say to him as he gives a friendly wave.

* * *

Arriving at the hotel proves to be more difficult. People were not scarce here and they were obviously staring at you leading a man who looks to be drained of all of his natural color. When you enter the elevator, you mash the symbol to close the doors, and suffer the sharp pain in your knuckle for doing so.

When you enter your room, you lock every option available on the door and secure the final one with the sliding of the chain lock.

Michael has disappeared into the bathroom. When you walk over to him, he is peeling his jacket off of him, revealing his white t-shirt sticking to his skin as it is soaked in blood.

“What the fuck, Michael?!” You rush over to him and grab towels for him. “W-what the hell happened. Oh god we need to go to the hospital!” He is pushing you away gently and is trying to calm you down, but you lose yourself to your panic; begging him to let you get him help.

“It’s not _my_ blood!” he finally chokes out. He strips the shirt now, revealing a much cleaner display of skin.

“You need to explain everything, and I MEAN everything.”

Michael ignores your presence and continues to strip, so you leave him to his privacy as he showers. After a few minutes, he comes out with towel wrapped around his waist. You confirm that he is overall unharmed save for a bit of bruising taking form around his stomach.

He takes his place next to you at the edge of the bed and stares down at the blue carpet. You allow him as much time as he needs to speak about his experience.

“Someone tried to fucking kidnap me. I don’t know who they were, but they were waiting for me and my friends. They rounded them up like it was nothing.” He looks over to you finally, his hazel eyes meeting yours. “I…stabbed one of them. That’s how I got away. And I just ran. I ran until my feet couldn’t anymore. Before I knew it, I’m calling you.”

“If your friends got kidnapped, why aren’t we calling the police?” You place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him calm. He does stay calm, but he doesn’t answer- he probably doesn’t _want_ to answer.

“Michael, they already brought me in for questioning.” He immediately stands up, dragging his hands through his shaggy hair. “They showed me pictures of people you were with. I don’t want to assume it’s drug related, but that was implied. And guess what? They were hinting at me and dad having a hand in this. Like some mob.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh really? So, you were just casually visiting three known smugglers?”

“I hadn’t dealt with them yet. My friends, the ones who were kidnapped, they were trying to get me in on this deal. They thought that with my connections, that I would prove useful.”

“Your connections?” He doesn’t say anything. “You mean dad-that wouldn’t work. Never in a million years. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I know. I know it was stupid. I don’t know how else to explain it you.”

“Are you using?”

“What? No! It wasn’t supposed to be anything extreme. Just weed.” You can’t help the strained laugh that comes out.

“Well it’s still _illegal_ , and if you think people like that aren’t going to keep pushing you to deal more heavy shit, then you were up for a rude awakening.”

“Does it matter anymore? I don’t know what to do!”

“There’s nothing to do. I don’t know how to get your friends back without involving the cops!”

“Oh god, they’re gonna lock me up.” He sits back down and buries his head in his palms.

“Fuck this place. They won’t hold you, and dad and I won’t let them. Whichever way we look at it though, the police are involved, Michael. But I'll talk to them. I'll figure something out soon.”

He finally stops to look at you. His shoulders relax and he is looking more like his self again; young and naïve.

You look at the clock and it is barely three in the afternoon. You drill into him that he should not leave the room for anything and he obliges without much energy to argue. You rush out to make a quick stop at the nearest clothing store to replace Michael’s soiled outfit. When you return, he is catching up on sleep, so you don’t disturb him. You set the overly stuffed bag of clothes down at the side of the bed and walk over to your bag and grab your phone from it.

Without considering, you punch in Wesker’s phone number, but stop yourself halfway.

 _That was close_.

You pinch your cheeks and quietly chastise yourself for risking a casual phone call to someone who doesn’t even know you have the number forever imbedded in your memory. He shouldn’t be the one to rely on, but you were thinking that a face to face conversation would prove more useful than a simple police report.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day is rough. You do your best to soothe Michael’s outbursts and paranoia. You have to sit through his mumbling and his retelling of the events. He describes everyone he was with; how they looked as they tried to flee. But he doesn’t stop there he just goes on about how the feeling of his switch blade felt slicing through flesh. He recalls the way the blood flowed like ribbon; and that agonizing screaming that keeps haunting him in his sleep.

He’ll never be the same. Just like you. But he is alive, and you are going to keep it that way. You stay at his bedside, lightly scratching through his hair to keep him comfortable, and it helps to clear his stress as he is eased into sleep once more for the night.

* * *

You’re looking yourself over in front of the mirror. You take some tissue and wipe away at the dry droplets that had built up on said mirror all thanks to your brother. And once you get it clear enough, you scan your work once more.

You borrowed some pieces from Stephanie’s wardrobe, but even then, you had to go down stairs into the hotel shop and pick up a pencil skirt. You maintained a professional touch: a peach colored chiffon blouse that was buttoned down and had long sleeves. The shirt was tucked into the black fabric of your newly acquired skit. And your heels are on the shorter side and black in color as well. And you finish off the outfit with a pair of pearl earrings, also borrowed from Stephanie.

“Ready for your meeting?” She gives a small whistle as she looks you over; scanning for anything that needs fixing.

You practically whine as you redo your hair; your nerves causing you to second guess everything. “Can I just…go home?”

“That would be nice. But you and Michael are in a world of shit.”

“Thanks,” you say as Stephanie walks over to you and helps you pick out a color for your lipstick.

She finally gives you a nod of approval and you can’t help but wrap your arms around Stephanie, seeking some much-needed encouragement. She pats your back and assures you that everything will work out. And so, with that you excuse yourself, leaving your brother and Stephanie to entertain themselves while you are away.

The day is at least a little merciful to you. Lots of clouds that keep the sun’s harsh rays to a minimum and the wind is much cooler; you relish it as it swirls around you and it further makes you want to just abandon ship and just take that little vacation up in the mountains. You’d like to go back home, back to that cabin.

When you arrive, you try to steady yourself; you worry your legs could give out from sheer nerves, yet you steel yourself and slip into your professional persona. You give a polite smile to anyone who catches your eye as you enter. You make your way to the front desk, but even with the _clicking_ and _clacking_ of your heels, the current secretary-whom you hadn’t seen before-paid you no mind as she continues making chit chat with a young officer, and you’re pretty sure from this angle you’re at, that it’s Elliot.

You hear a shuffling of feet behind you, and you turn around in response. The mail man had made his way to you. Still the same gentleman who secured this route for deliveries. His face is flushed pink and his grey wispy hair is tucked under a hat. You greet him and he doesn’t flinch at the sight of you; he instead greets back warmly.

“How are you today?” he asks cheerfully as he starts handing you stacks of envelopes and junk mail.

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking. It’s not too hot out there for you, I hope?” you ask for the hundredth time after so many years.

“It’s not too bad, miss.” He finishes with one more envelope to add to the stack. “You have yourself a blessed day.” He waves away and turns around to leave the building.

You stand at attention, now armed with all the mail that would normally be tasked to the secretary. You walk up to hand over the stack when someone pushes past you, taking your place for setting up a meeting. The secretary at the front desk is now forced to help her visitors, and you catch the roll of her eyes as she returns to duty. But even then, Elliot hovers around-paying no mind to you. Now you just feel awkward, standing around and wondering if you were suddenly invisible.

And it was enough to piss you off. You can’t help that sudden urge to get risky and catch the Captain off guard. You grip the stack of papers as you notice a couple of officers heading into a door to the left. You begin walking quickly in an effort to catch up and you successfully follow them through the West side of the building.

You want to laugh. _Really?_ Not a single person stops you. You are in your natural environment it seems. When you enter the West Office, you drop the relevant stacks of mail to different desks and continue on your way to the next set of hallways. You think you hear a ‘thank you’ and as you leave, you are certain you hear someone asking about the ‘new secretary.’

You make your way up the stairs until you are able to circle around and find yourself getting close to the S.T.A.R.S office. After a couple of minutes, you find yourself in front of the light brown door. You can hear the soft murmurs and touches of laughter from the other side. With that, you grip the handle and squeeze until it stings your palms.

1…2…3… _You enter_.

Most of the members are out. Even so, you could tell it was Alpha team who worked the shift today. A few members are busy with their reports; and you take a moment to enjoy the sight of everyone concentrating and giving it their all, even if it was mundane paperwork. You have to admit, you did miss these visits. But this visit isn’t meant for you to catch up.

You don’t notice Chris, so you’re in the clear from confronting your _biggest fan_. You distribute more mail and you make it quick before someone who was present at the bar takes notice of you; someone like Jill Valentine who is close with Chris. But somehow with her presence, luck is shining on you as she is too focused on her work. You remember a time when Chris threw a little balled up piece of paper just to get her to finally look up at him after a minute of calling out for her. And you could just thank her for still having that habit.

But seeing most of Alpha team does make you a little uneasy. Wesker could be out in the field. But when you turn to your left and see a bit of light peeking through, you surrender and decide to chance it. Without missing a beat, you enter into Wesker’s office, which had been closed off to everyone else. It isn’t locked. _Lucky_.

The Captain is looking down at his paperwork, his cheek resting on his fist. You place the mail right where you used to always place it for him: not directly in front of him, but at a respectful distance as to not disturb him. This time however, you sit down on the chair across from him.

_He’s smiling._

He never shows any hints of looking up at you. “The secretary usually leaves my mail with Barry or Enrico. She’s apparently too scared to come in here herself.”

You get comfortable in your chair and look directly at his face. “I’m wondering what you did to give her that impression.” You try to give a little benefit of the doubt for the girl who seemed reluctant to work.

“I haven’t done anything. I only know her name because Chris wouldn’t shut up about her when she was first hired.” His casual remark catches you off guard.

He finally looks at you and leans in. “So, Miss Reyes, are you purposely trying to get yourself arrested?” His grinning continues and he seems extremely amused at the fact that you made your way to him without anyone stopping you.

“Well, I tried to check in, but I guess no one had time for me or the mail man.” _I mean, I could’ve waited but…_ You look at your nails as if unbothered by the risk you took.

“But someone bothered enough to show you where my office is.” It wasn’t a question and he is looking over to the door as if he is going to spot your accomplice.

“You should pay more attention, Captain. In case of emergencies, there are maps with highlighted paths to your nearest exit.”

His grin disappears and he sits back again. His face now without emotion, he continues, “What brings you here? It might not seem like I’m busy but I do have things to finish.”

“I’m here to negotiate.” He quirks an eyebrow, his curiosity returning to him.

“Two of your suspects, along with three of my brother’s friends, were kidnapped. No marked vehicles and they didn’t even communicate with each other-like they knew exactly who they were targeting. They were incredibly organized and quick.” Wesker begins tapping his finger on his desk. “That woman and one of her guards were taken-the ones from the pictures.”

“And I’m to believe your brother got away, while two dangerous criminals were rounded up and taken with no hint as to who would take them?” he asks with a hint of boredom.

“My brother fought to get away. And he said they were pretty keen on finding him considering they were following him around for a few blocks before he lost them,” you snap back at him.

“Again, I fail to see how someone like your brother would get away from these ‘professional kidnappers.’”

“Well what you should be bothered over is why they are getting taken in the first place?” you insist.

“They are in a business that makes them plenty of enemies, Miss Reyes. It’s not unheard of for them to lash out and make examples out of anyone testing the waters and trying to dip their toes into territories they have no business making deals in.”

 _Why didn’t you just stay home, Michael?_ At the very least you wished Michael was out partying and hooking up with people; not getting caught up in rivalries.

“So? Let’s hear it. What are you offering?” He smirks.

You take a deep breath. “I can convince my brother to give you everything you need. All I need is a guarantee that I can send him home afterward.”

A small laugh escapes him. “It sounds to me like my problem was just taken care of. Why would I need an amateur like your brother? He’d be best used as an example if he gets convicted.”

“Well if you don’t need him, then my brother is no longer involved. He’s no longer your problem.” You relax into your seat, hoping it was enough to get your brother in the clear.

“No, I’m afraid not,” he says.

“You’re impossible… He didn’t do anything! Those people are gone; why in the hell would you still try to go after him?” He stays silent. “So that’s it then? He wouldn’t be able to give you _anything_ that would help you down the line?” Your nails are now gripping at the sides of your chair.

He considers your question for a moment. He stands up and folds his hands behind his back and appears to be looking out into the main S.T.A.R.S office. 

“I’ll need more than just scraps; I need all names and locations.” You feel your fingers relax and your shoulders soften as the tension leaves you.

“Any and all information. You get your info, and nothing leads back to my family. We leave your city for good,” you suggest.

He makes a sound, _tsk tsk._ "Making a deal without your lawyer…” You should ignore this remark but you keep running your mouth.

“With all due respect, Captain, I think R.P.D. has enough dealings that go unnoticed daily.”

“And what dealings might that be?” he asks, now walking towards you.

“The ones _your Chief of Police_ fattens his pockets with.” He leans against his desk, seemingly unbothered.

“You have proof?”

“I have resources, and if I want, I can obtain that proof.” This was starting to get dangerous, Wesker could find a way to get rid of you if it meant keeping your mouth shut. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I may need to see that proof,” he suggests.

You shake your finger at him. “I don’t think so. If you want your R.P.D. to be free of corruption, then I suggest you put in the work and get rid of the Chief yourself; along with anyone else on his personal payroll. Might I add, since you’re so knowledgeable of my bank account, I could always just end this much quicker through the Chief.” You make a show of crossing one leg over the other. “I’m sure he’ll make time for me.”

“Indeed,” he says. If you weren’t mistaken, you swear he showed the slightest twitch of his lip.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” you ask.

“I either get information in exchange for your brother’s freedom and my silence, or you go straight to the Chief and offer yourself up on a silver platter and hope that he’ll take a bite. How are you so sure you’re even his type?” You just smile away and rub your thumb to your index and middle finger. _Money_.

“You’re forgetting the third option: I bring you both in and get what I want without agreeing to anything that would benefit either of you.” He reaches out as if he intended to touch your hair, or trail his fingers on your cheek. He stops himself. 

“Well that’s no fun,” you say as you slump back in your seat, earning some distance between you and him. “Not even a benefit of the doubt? A show of good faith in allowing a young man to redeem himself for the mistake he _almost_ made.”

“If he didn’t do anything, then there is nothing to redeem. And he wouldn’t worry about anything to begin with,” he says casually, leaving you to wonder if he is actually as bored as he looks. “Lawyer up Miss Reyes…things are not looking good for you.” He brings his attention back to the mail you brought him, and begins sorting through the packages.

You take that as your cue to leave. You stand up and tug at your skirt to get rid of any wrinkles. And you don’t say anything, the only idea left bouncing around in your head is to just forfeit your pride and make a deal with the Chief. But before you make your leave, Wesker calls out to you.

“Miss Reyes, I don’t know how many times I’m going have to say that I’m the one to tell you when we are through.” You grip at your purse tightly.

“And apparently you haven’t gotten the hint that I’m not going to do as I’m told every time. You can send one of your minions if you want to change your mind and make a deal.”

“IF there is a deal to be made, it should be today.”

“It’s what I came for; but now it’s _only_ if you ask nicely.” You wink at him.

“Please, if you’ll take a seat, we can reach an agreement.” You look smugly at him, then the chair, until you finally return to situate yourself back in front of him. He follows your lead and sits back down as well.

He gestures for you to wait a moment, as he picks up his handset and dials away. When the other line picks up, he keeps it short, “Emily, come to the S.T.A.R.S office immediately.”

You distract yourself with looking around his office while you wait for this Emily to make her appearance. Everything is organized and polished down to a noticeable shine. No sign of clutter or trash and his trinkets on his desk are minimal, save for the essentials. He did have piles of paperwork that were threatening to spill and cover his keyboard. The only thing you liked about his office was the photo of the entire S.T.A.R.S team right behind him.

Eventually, a soft voice is questioning people outside of the office. “Must’ve been the Cap.” Someone answers loudly. Soon, the young woman keeps to her manners and gently taps on Wesker’s door, before opening it and peeking in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, come in.”

Emily walks in and walks over to your right and waits. You realize that it is the secretary. Even though you’re sitting, you could tell she is incredibly tall. With long legs models could envy and bright red hair that could sparkle under sunlight; she is statuesque. You just hope she can hold her own against Wesker.

“Emily, can you tell me who this is?” He points over to you while leaning back, allowing himself to relax.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t met.” You catch her brown eyes, and she doesn’t shy away as she tries to keep everything friendly. She is surprisingly soft spoken. You are about to introduce yourself when Wesker cuts in.

“I want you to try really hard. Tell me, who is she?” _He’s enjoying this, that bastard_. Again, you are about to speak up when he hushes you. “No, no, let her try.”

“Umm…your wife…sir?” _Oh hell no._ You look down at your hand that clearly doesn’t have a single jewel, let alone a tan line to indicate one had been worn.

“It’s funny, because no one knows who she is. You see, Emily… this woman walked in to my office without appointment and without the very least-a visitors’ badge.” She looks back to you, wide eyed and with extreme shock plastered on her face.

She looks back at Wesker, now frightened to her core. “I-I’m so sorry sir, I’ll escort her out.”

“There will be no need. The only one needing to be escorted out, is _you_ , Emily. You no longer work here.” Tears start pooling at the corners of her eyes. They almost look like pearls against her skin.

You immediately stand up. “I don’t think this is worthy of termination, Captain.” Emily looks at you both, absolutely confused because clearly a stranger wouldn’t take this tone with the Captain.

“It is actually. Because of her incompetence, she could’ve let anyone in who harbors a grudge against me or my team.” He stays put, completely unfazed.

You stomp over to him and lean in, almost whispering, paying no mind to your new audience member. “You said we could potentially reach a deal, what are you playing at?”

“I’m merely looking out for everyone here.” You can barely tell when he looks away, shifting his gaze to his computer.

“What do you want, Wesker?!” You reach out and grab his glasses and slam them on his desk. The pang of regret begins to boil in your belly as he just… stares at you. There is not one hint to his temper, and no malice to his movements-he just stares. You feel your ears burn as the embarrassment settles in. And it didn’t help that you remembered how you once equated his eyes to a lake; gently flowing water with blues and greens-like sapphire or turquoise. You hate that you find them attractive. That you still find _him_ attractive.

“Emily, wait outside the door.” You refuse to look, but you hear her steps muted by the soft carpet as she scurries away and does as she’s told.

You harden yourself against his imposing force. Neither of you move. You look down under your palm and notice the broken frame. You choose to ignore the shattered pieces under you palm as you finally speak.

“There is no need for that display, she made a mistake. By your logic, half of the staff should be fired for not stopping me.”

Wesker looks you over until his gaze looks beyond the door behind you. He considers the options flowing in his head, until his eyes focus back on yours-still confident and never showing that your attempt at intimidation had any affect.

“My offer is this, Miss Reyes: I want to know what your brother knows. And once I get that information, I then expect you to fill that new and very vacant position as secretary. This is all I offer. You work under our watch; your brother cooperates; you and your family will have no ties to the cartels and the local gangs. Your family’s reputation will remain clean, and your brother gets to go back to California.”

You try not to let your mouth hang loose from the shock. 

“There is little point to me working here. Especially with my new dent in my record thanks to you. I doubt that makes me a good candidate, if at all ‘hirable.’”

“I’ll worry about the details, Miss Reyes. Besides, I take it you’d do anything for your family. So again, I get _one_ of you, or I ensure that by the end of this, _all_ of you will have to stay here and answer for your crimes.”

“We are not criminals.”

“I don’t care. Besides, it looks like you have some experience with this type of job anyways. Pretty shocking considering your spoiled upbringing.”

“Oh, kindly fuck off.” You start walking away as you are sick to your stomach. 

“One phone call is all it takes to start the process of ruining your brother’s life.”

“I’ll get a good lawyer.” You don’t turn to look at him, your hand is on the door handle when a stack of papers suddenly collides against your back. You are about to lash out when you notice your brother splayed out across the floor among numerous photos; these were different. You kneel down and pick up a couple of them.

Your brother looking confident-smiling even, while shaking hands with strangers. Another photo shows duffel bags being handed off. Another one shows your brother counting a bundle of cash discreetly to the side, while others are standing around. You are unable to speak. One after the other they get worse; just constant confirmation of this damning evidence. This didn’t look like some beginner’s run to you.

“Why hasn’t he been arrested yet?” you ask as you rub beads of sweat from your forehead.

“He’s small fry compared to who I’m actually after.”

“If I go to the Chief-” you stutter.

“If you go to the Chief, you are handing money over to more corruption-according to you. Which is it Miss Reyes? Do you condemn corruption, or are you going to play a hand in it?”

You start collecting the pictures, organizing them just as you are organizing your thoughts. _You’d stay here, in exchange for your brother’s freedom. You’ve made it out once, you can do it again._

“Why like this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Because Miss Reyes, if your brother lies to me, I’ll feel much more comforted knowing you haven’t skipped town. _One of you_ , remember?”

_Still sounds like bullshit._

You tap the pile neatly into place and return the evidence into the yellow folder. You walk over and hand him the photos. “I have one request: Emily stays and I can join in and help.”

“The Chief doesn’t need two secretaries.” He scoffs.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to work for him. But I’m not taking away her source of income.”

“Fine.”

You were ready for another round of arguing but you are stunned into silence. You look around as if anyone was around to witness. “Huh?”

“She can be his, and you’ll be my secretary.”

“But you don’t need-”

“You said one request, Miss Reyes. That’s all you get.” He walks over to the door and calls Emily in.

She stumbles in, her eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying.

“It’s your lucky day, Emily. You get to keep your job. Now if you could please show Miss Reyes to the front. Have her fill out an application and bring it to me when finished.”

She looks back and forth between the both of you, completely lost and unsure of what to believe anymore. “Right away, sir,” she hobbles off while you stay put.

“That’s your cue.” He expects you to leave but you stop at the doorway.

“So, what’s next?”

“Tomorrow, you bring your brother in. You can start next week so that you can get yourself more situated in Raccoon City.”

“Great,” you say with a sarcastic smile.

"I'm curious." You release a heavy groan as he keeps you from leaving. "Why didn't you ask that we find your brother's friends?" 

You roll your eyes. "Because I don't care about them," you say harshly.

"Really?" He leans back and gives that devilish grin. "Interesting." 

You aren't going to explain yourself. You truly don't have the ability to care about people who put your brother in danger in the first place. With that, you finally escape.

After you quickly fill out a generic looking application, intended for 'easier' positions at R.P.D., you take a break outside of the building, taking advantage of one of the benches set up against the former museum.

You dig through your purse, and without a single ounce of hesitation you retrieve your pack of smokes and undo the plastic. Once opened, you tap the box and force one cigarette to pop out. But as you place the cigarette in between your lips, you look down into your purse giving in to a heavy sigh of defeat.

“I don’t have a fucking lighter.”


	6. Chapter 6

When you return to the hotel, with an unlit cigarette in your mouth, you charge at Michael. You could slap him but you instead remove a shoe and throw it at him. He dodges without issue. But he is on alert, expecting the next shoe to come after him. Stephanie immediately seeks refuge behind you trying to avoid your wrath. Michael runs to a corner of the room but you’re already aiming in the direction he is moving. And your aim is true, causing Michael to let out a yelp.

“You better stop running,” you say as you close in on him. He grips your wrists as you reach out for him. He is trying to talk you down, trying to get you to sit and listen. You eventually collapse on the bed and bury your face in your hands.

“I’ll let you two talk it out.” Stephanie makes an exit before you can respond.

“What happened now?” he sincerely asks and he takes one of your hands into his.

“Do you really have to ask? You have no idea how lucky you are, Michael. Had you been the leader instead of their dealer, I wouldn’t have been able to negotiate shit!”

“Wait, what did you do? You made a deal?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, I made a deal. And guess what little bro? You get to go home. You are going to give them whatever they need, and then you will go home. You are not allowed to return. And as the biggest fucking favor to me, you will not get involved in anything remotely close to this ever again. Because if you do, I will not help you. I mean it.”

* * *

Today, you are seeing your brother off. He has a small duffel bag which to your knowledge only carries the new clothes you had bought for him the other day. Stephanie is also joining him on this flight. Neither of them know about the details of your arrangement; only that you have to stay for investigative purposes. Even so, your brother took everything you said to heart. He could hardly face you the next day when you escorted him to R.P.D.

You weren’t welcomed to stay for the interrogation, and so you just sat outside, trying to enjoy the weather when in fact you were just trying not to burn up from the heat. You eventually gave up and made a trip to a café where you gorged on muffins and cooled off with a cool glass of sweet iced tea.

When everything was said and done, your brother broke down crying in your arms, as you stood there with a sort of detachment. Completely unmoved and bitter. You needed time. Once everything in Raccoon City was over, you were very much looking forward to concentrating on _your_ life.

It is a few minutes until departure, and you take turns hugging them and bidding them farewell. Your brother is constantly looking down at his feet, absolute shame taking hold of him and you can practically read the embarrassment on his face. You could’ve asked him more questions. You could have demanded him to tell you what he did with his drug money, but it didn’t matter anymore. You just want him to be home. At the end of the day, you love him just the same as you did when he was kid running around sunburned and hair full of dirt.

When you make it back to your rental car, you pull out a cigarette and finally light it with the cheap lighter you bought from a gas station. You think you’d cough as soon as the fire hits your lungs, but surprisingly, it was as if you had never quit to begin with. You lean on the car and take a moment to watch as a plane takes off, unsure as to whether that was Michael and Stephanie leaving.

You take this moment to pull out your phone and call your father. It takes a couple of tries, but he soon answers it with much enthusiasm. He thinks you’re getting on that plane.

You were as stable as you could be with Michael and Steph, but when you hear your dad’s voice-his charming voice, you just start balling. You take another drag of your cigarette and try to calm yourself. He is mumbling and trying to get any sort of coherent sentence through your sobbing, but you just start talking over him; explaining why you weren’t on that damn plane.

You don’t leave any details out. You wanted someone else to know just how close your brother was to having his life ruined. He was never meant to leave Raccoon City, and you worked for his safety, but fuck it you are furious. You feel resentful. And you felt guilty for feeling that way.

“(Y/N), get on a plane-I don’t care what time, I’ll pick you up.” His voice is frantic.

“I can’t.” Your cigarette falls to the ground as you lose your grip with it. You hunch down to your knees and cry some more into your phone. 

It’s more back and forth, and he has your same initial reaction to the situation. _Fuck everyone; get out; the place will be blown off this earth anyways- why does it matter?!_

“My boss won’t always be around and as soon as he leaves, I’m packing up and leaving,” you say in between your sniffling. _That’s right, Bravo and Alpha team will have to leave, and that means Wesker will leave. That will be your window to your freedom._

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“I know I don’t need to tell you this, but if things change-if you feel like things are moving quicker than anticipated, you leave. DO NOT look back.”

“…I will.” 

The both of you are tongue-tied as neither of you know what else there is to say.

“You know I’m going to lose my mind with just Michael here,” your father says, and he finally gets a small laugh out of you.

“Yeah, he’s probably goin’ to butter you up. It’ll be Father’s Day, every day.” He gives a small chuckle.

“(Y/N)…”

“Yes?”

“I will always be on your side.”

“And I’ll always be on yours, dad.”

You both say goodbye.

* * *

**1989**

“What is that?” Your father observed you in your over sized t-shirt and the shorts that were lost to the enormity of it. Your flip flops were off your feet, and you were barely making an effort in pushing yourself on the swing set. This was your favorite spot. A simple set up built by your dad in a clearing behind your house.

“What is what?” you questioned without looking, your gaze fixed on the clouds overhead.

“That shirt- _my god_.” He took his place next to you on the other swing.

You had finally looked down at the artwork on the black t-shirt. It was rather simple in design. Red letters layered and weaved in a pentagram made of swords.

“Slayer.” Your monotone answer only encouraged your father to ask more questions.

“When’s the next concert?” You smiled at the memory of dragging your father to your first concert. He apparently wasn’t off the clock as he played bodyguard for you. No one was ready when it came to him. There was no moshing for you either, because as soon as things started to get crazy, he was a barrier between you and the other sweaty attendees; all waving their arms and banging their heads so hard you couldn’t avoid a slap in the face from hair.

“You really want to join me again?” You chuckled.

“What, your dad can’t listen to the same music as you?”

“I don’t know. Most parents shit themselves at the first sign of rebellion. Especially when hairspray gets involved.”

Your dad looked at you like he was about to say something. Not cursing in front of him was extremely difficult. “Oops, my bad.”

He chose mercy and ignored that it happened. “Speaking of hair, you keep it rather tamed lately.”

“Yeah, even though I’m stuck in the eighties, my hair aint going through THAT again.” He laughed this time and ran his fingers through your hair to make it a disheveled mess.

Your dad got up and took his place behind you. He started to push against your back gently, until you finally caught some decent speed. The fall air laced through your hair and you could feel yourself settle into absolute bliss. You could hear the crunching of leaves under your dad’s boots.

He eventually slowed down, giving in and asking more questions about your future. They were simple: He wondered about your job; he wondered about your partners; and he wondered about Michael.

R.P.D. had been fine until you quit your job because of the Chief, and this was shortly done after the Arklay incident. You kept the details of your relationships rather vague. Truthfully, Wesker was the closest thing to a partner you had. Neither of you uttered those words that would have made you much more. And then he disappeared. Disappeared was the only word for it. When Chris was back in town, your lasting memory of him was seeing him walking towards the Chief’s office. You weren’t allowed near anyone’s office, and you were forced to stay put up front until your eventual resignation. Even with your limited work space, you heard it in passing: Wesker was dead. 

It was the first time you cried for someone like that. Your real first heartbreak. And it wouldn’t be your last.

You had coped as best as you could after that. Your only updates were through phone calls with Marvin. Chris went on vacation-as strange as that was. Jill was suspended while Brad stayed on, but he didn’t say much. Something felt off for sure.

You tried your best to talk about the best days you had in your short life. He listened without interrupting and only commented when you were completely silent.

“Sounds like most of them were good people.” He didn’t say it, but it was safely assumed that none of them made it. The only possibility being Chris, considering his absence.

“They were,” you said as you kicked a pebble out of the way as your father continued to push.

You changed the subject back onto Michael. He was working his way up to studying forensic anthropology. Dating was a little more adventurous for him; nothing serious. He had trouble staying motivated, but he always found a way to make his grades up.

“He’s a good kid,” he said proudly.

“If you say so,” you teased.

Even with such pleasant memories, you had to try and not let your face betray what you were actually remembering:

_It all happened so quick. You brother was dragged away and you heard a sickening crunch as one them bit into his leg. You hardly remembered what happened in between, just the pushing and the tripping until a door closed behind you._

_Your father’s hands were beaten and battered, smashed to gory bits as he continued to slam against the door that stood in the way of your brother. He was holding the door closed, with no intention of letting anything in; to make sure you both could leave unscathed. There had been an audible screeching of tile as Michael moved something in place to keep the door closed._

_“OPEN THIS DOOR NOW-” your dad pleaded._

_“You know I can’t do that!” Michael shouts over the wailing of the undead._

_“Michael, PLEASE!”_

_You were trying to buy time for your father, some of the infected were trying to climb into the window, and you had nothing but a gulf club to hold them off. It was starting to get desperate on your end as well. One of them almost pulled you over the window frame by your jacket, but you slipped out of the fabric and continued to smash your club into their mauled faces._

_Gunshots continued on Michael’s side. He refused to move-refused to let the broken door handle be the thing that would destroy the entire family._

_“Dad, (Y/N), I love you…” He made sure you both heard. He said it with all the strength he had left._

_“I love you son…” Your dad didn’t care to control his tears but he controlled his wavering voice, he needed it to be loud and clear. You hoped Michael heard it. You hoped Michael knew he meant the world to you both._

_You couldn’t say goodbye. Their numbers had increased. And you both had left Michael to keep the rest at bay for as long as possible._

And the carnage didn’t stop there. You had to witness how your fathered died.

Your form was hunched after losing your thoughts to those memories. “A lot of people are going to die…” You always found yourself saying to your father.

“It’s not your job to keep them safe.” And every time his gentle gaze would harden. It was clear to you then that he would see anyone else burn before letting the Reyes family succumb to the horrors that threatened to return within the decade.

* * *

**1998**

Your night ends at that old bar. It is overwhelmingly crowded, but you stay because you get to remain hidden in the crowd. You are finally enjoying a little time to yourself. No one to make demands of you.

But as you try to hum away with the music, you can’t help but listen in on some gossip near you. Except, as you listen more and more, you realize that this was less gossip and more news worthy.

“They’ve vanished. _Poof_ …nothing. My sister tried to report it to the cops but they haven’t done anything about it!”

“Doubt they care enough for some _rando_ living on the streets…”

“Yeah, but it’s apparently been happening a lot-”

“There’s a lot of fucked up people out there.” The other one tries to reassure their friend.

“Yeah but this has got them all shitting their pants even more.”

“A black van?” you cut in and the two men stare at you in awe. They look to each other as if trying to decide whether to include you in or not.

“Yeah… Ya seen it?”

“I know someone who did,” you say.

“Shit. Just don’t hang out near these parts too late. They’ve been spotted snatching anyone from homeless to hooker.” You remain poised and without worry.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You get up to get to a pay phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Things are in order for your temporary stay in the city. You returned your rental and bought a used vehicle advertised in the paper. Your ’92 Ford Taurus ran just fine, but the outside looks a little roughed up. The paint is peeling and there are dents from what you assumed to be some angry people taking out their frustration by swinging their doors open and making this poor car the victim.

Your apartment is located in a small complex. Since you were running on limited time before your start date, you needed to find a more permanent situation that wasn’t racking up the bill every night. This complex in particular isn’t the worst, but it borders on shady as the Landlords were very eager and very quick with your approval. Even so, it isn’t meant to be home.

In the middle of all of this planning, you still managed to keep your updates with everyone back home, and back at your actual house.

When the day comes, you have a mild fit of anxiety on the drive to work. You had woken up to a voicemail from the Chief, expressing “great interest in your sudden onboarding.” He made it very clear that you would meet with him first thing, and that arriving about half an hour earlier was preferred to allow time for introductions.

Now you are panicking over parking. You didn’t have a pass yet, so you have to dig for some coins for a meter as you park at a separate garage.

Your feet are already burning as you run with all of your strength to the station. When you enter the building, people actually notice you this time. You catch your breath and walk up to the front.

Emily is standing at attention, trying to remedy the neglect she had displayed last week. You give her a warm smile and pray that she won’t throw you under the bus too much.

“I’m supposed to meet with the Chief?” you aren’t sure how to ask. You could strut right through and present yourself, but you have to play the part; the part of fresh meat. Emily is fighting the scowl that is threatening to burst right through. She grabs a badge that was already made for you.

“Display it on your right side.” You take the badge and pretend to struggle with it for a moment. There are still a few minutes before you are supposed to see Chief Irons, and you wanted to turn around and quite literally flee from the premise. But no amount of fidgeting is going to prevent the meeting from happening. So, you follow your tall escort to the Chief’s office.

She doesn’t say anything to you on the way there, but she at least has the decency to say ‘welcome to the R.P.D.’ You half expect her to throw some confetti at your face to just get the formalities over with.

You thank her and turn towards the door. You knock a little too loudly, and the Chief tells you to enter. When you present yourself, the Chief is standing at his desk, his arms crossed and his face showing no sign of welcome. Unexpectedly, Wesker is sitting down and doesn’t even turn to look at you.

“Good morning,” you say. _Hello again, you waste of oxygen._

“Sit down.” You take your seat right next to Wesker; you follow his example and ignore him.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we? My _subordinate_ here, felt the need to hire you without consulting me. And let me tell you Miss Reyes, if it had originally been up to me, you wouldn’t be here.” _Well how about that, we agree on something for once._

“But I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time to babysit all of you. I always expect perfect results from everyone. But apparently, I’ve been too lenient. It resulted in you getting hired on the spot-as I’m to understand this.” He looks over to Wesker, and you decide to sneak a peek as well. He shows zero interest; he is apparently more taken with the pen in his hand that he is now twirling between his fingers.

“The Captain here has expressed some concern for the pile of work his team is dealing with. And you’ll learn that I’m a man of my word. I agreed on these last-minute changes. But I’m not one to so graciously play favorites, and don’t expect them to do the same either, understand? So, you are to specifically report to the S.T.A.R.S members and do whatever they ask of you. _Whatever_ , they ask. Also, in the spirit of doing things on a whim-with no prep and no consultation- you too will go through the motions as such. No training needed if he thinks you’re worthy enough to earn a spot that wasn’t vacant in the first place. Hear me now, any mistakes and you are out!” he spits.

“Understood, sir.” You meet his gaze and smile your perfected fake smile.

“Dismissed.” You get up immediately and you don’t even wait for Wesker. You can feel him following you out. His overbearing presence makes you quicken your step and you eventually beat him to the main hall.

To your ecstatic surprise, you are not moved from the main hall. You are sharing the space with Emily, and the tasks are divided between the both of you. But this is where your excitement ends. Emily would concentrate on running around like a personal assistant to the Chief and the other officers; while you concentrated on work for the S.T.A.R.S. team. And they must be testing you, because there are piles of paper that rivaled Emily’s.

It does not matter. You handled everything when it was just you. _Kiss my ass_.

You keep up with the incoming phone calls well enough, and transferred them to various departments when necessary. You denied a couple of impulsive meetings directed at the Chief, which was clearly something Emily needed to address but she had left her post for the 12:30 lunch run. And it was literally a run. Chief Irons had a favorite diner, and you remember having to time your leave twenty minutes before even though you had called in the order ahead of time. The place was always crowded so it was always a race back to the station, or face the Chief’s ridicule.

Emily eventually returns and she is red in the face and her perfect hair became wild from the sprint. She quickly whips out a tiny mirror and fixes herself before running straight to Chief’s office with the goods.

When she returns, she is trying to cool down, her hand flapping away trying to cool the air around her. You leave for a moment and when you return you set a little paper cup down with some cold water. She looks at you with bewilderment. But she chooses to remain civil and takes the cup gently into her hands and takes a sip.

“Thanks,” she says as she finishes off the water.

“No problem.” You continue where you left off with the filing and you try not to stare back as she continues to gawk at you.

“So-” You look up at her and she is grinning. _Oh god, here it comes._ “What’s the deal with you and the Captain?”

“Me and the Captain?” you sound bored.

“Oh, come on. How on earth did you end up with a job here? I thought he was going to throw you out himself.”

“It was an odd interview…”

“Really now?” Emily crushes the cup in her hand and deposits it into the small trash bin tucked under the desk. “That was an intense interview. And look at you, you still got the job.” You don’t miss that sarcasm in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m surprised,” you continue to sound disinterested. But you can feel that tingling sensation, that one at the pit of your stomach when you know someone is still going to dig until they get a satisfying answer.

“Sorry for being nosy but you gotta admit, what we dealt with last week was very weird.” She smacks her lips as she chews away at her gum.

“No, I’m not going to deny that,” you say.

“I just didn’t think the Captain would just bring someone on considering the argument you guys were having. And then I’m thrown right in the middle.”

“Yeah sorry about that. I rushed past you to meet him because I was almost late,” you lie.

She huffs in response, “But he acted like he didn’t know you.”

“I get the impression he was testing you,” you say without delay. She nods as she understands that it wasn’t a completely outlandish idea.

“Anyways, the Captain gives me the creeps. I’d stay away.” _Yes, yes, can we move on from this subject now?_

“How is it working for the Chief?” you say politely.

“Ugh…don’t get me started.” You begin to worry about what might come next. “I think that _he thinks_ he has a shot…” She spaces out for a moment. “Oh!” Before she can continue her rant, she grabs some paperwork from a drawer and rushes past you. “He’s got a meeting!” And off she runs to her next stop for the day.

Your day continues with more piles of paperwork, delivered to you courtesy of the rookie in the group, Rebecca Chambers. She was putting in an extra day of work it seems but you were happy to see her nonetheless.

You start to realize that being set up in the main hall is going to be an issue. You have to walk the sorted-and now labeled boxes-all the way back to the S.T.A.R.S office. You need a dolly, and you just hope someone could be kind enough to help you by fetching one.

You try to look around for anyone who may be free enough to grab one. But the station is rather bare, and this was a slowdown period. For now, you set aside the first couple of completed boxes to the side and continue with the rest of the files.

As you shift around lost in your work, your badge constantly slips off your outfit. Upon inspection, you realize it was either previously used or defective. You do your best to clip it on, but as it continues to pop off, you yank the badge off and set it aside in frustration. At this point you reach for some papers and accidently shove some of them off of the desk.

“Dammit.” You collect them as quick as you can.

As you work through the last stack, you don’t hear anyone approaching; the only indication signaling the new company is the gentle slide of a cup of coffee. As you look up, you notice Chris, rubbing at his neck as he looks away.

“Figured you’d needed the pick-me-up.” For just a moment, you feel your eyes light up at the sight of fresh coffee.

“Thanks, but I prefer tea,” you try to joke. His head snaps in your direction.

“What the…Where’s Em?”

“She’s busy. Since you’re here, can you help me with something?” He doesn’t bother with your question, he is just looking at you like he did that day at the bar.

 _Wow, Wesker didn’t tell him, did he_? _Why wouldn’t he tell him!?_ He is looking around as if searching for anyone to question as to why this person he loathes is making herself at home at R.P.D. You realize you forgot to put on your badge and reach over for it as it had been buried under some folders. Chris grabs your wrist.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Getting my badge. Do you mind? I work here now-by the way, so why don’t you take it easy?” He lets you go and grabs the paper you were organizing. Now he looks at you with an accusatory expression. His hands are on you again. 

“Nice try,” he says with pure confidence.

“Ouch you’re hurting me!” You try to pull your hand back.

“Something isn’t right.” 

“You’re fucking right about that, let GO OF ME.” Your voice is louder but you make it a point to give a delicate touch. 

“I heard about you sneaking in here. Don’t think you’re getting away with it again.”

You continue your exaggerated calls for help, making a lame attempt at pulling away, and you can’t help play the part of a damsel in distress. The ideas are terrible. But you want to embarrass him; he needs that. You happily allow yourself to loosen up, enough where he pulls you in suddenly, your chest presses up against him without warning. He instinctively pushes you away at the contact, causing your back to hit the desk slightly. He takes out his cuffs, and then takes hold of your arms. He forces you to face away from him and practically bends you over the desk. You let your cries of pain ease into a soft cry, just enough to almost sound like a moan. He stops immediately, and you can hear the hitch in his breathing.

Without warning, a soft voice breaks through, “Chris! What are you doing!?”

You turn to look back at him, and he is shuffling in place nervously. It takes him a moment, but he eventually composes himself enough to give Rebecca an answer. “Getting this crazy lady out of here!”

“Why are you trying to arrest the new secretary!?” She runs over to you and drags you towards her. She surprisingly has a strong grip and you give an earnest wince.

“New secretary?”

“YES.”

He does a double take at you and is stunned speechless. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Umm no? The Captain hired her specifically to help our team.” She looks at Chris with pure disappointment. “Come on.” She urges you to follow her and the both of you leave Chris to his sudden isolation.

As Rebecca walks ahead of you. You look over your shoulder and grin wickedly, making sure to seal the deal with a kiss to your middle finger delivering a solid ‘go fuck yourself’ out towards him. Chris is fuming and you can tell he is doing his best not to chase after you.

Once out of sight in the women’s bathroom, Rebecca checks your wrist for a possible sprain or even the slightest scratch. Everything is fine and you don’t even feel any leftover pain. You splash some water on your neck to try and cool off. Meanwhile, Rebecca is watching you apologetically through the mirror.

“I should be okay. I better finish up the work you gave me,” you say. She hesitates for a moment before reaching out to you. She was always good natured, and ridiculously smart; a genius from what you could remember.

“I’ll give him a piece of my mind. I don’t know what got into him,” she says. That alone means a lot to you. You remember her consistently being respectful towards her superiors, so watching her getting worked up and standing up to Chris is definitely serious.

“We actually have had a few run ins before this, and none of them pretty. I’d say let him cool off,” you pat her hand in assurance. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Seriously though, he is…a very nice guy. I just-” she struggles for the right words.

“Not everyone is going to get along. It’s okay,” you give a reassuring nod.

Her glow seems to return to her as you aren’t left traumatized from Chris’ outburst. You lead her out this time.

The afternoon comes quickly, and you finally reach the end of your tasks. You are awkwardly moving the dolly lent to you up the stairs, and when it becomes clear that this method is absolutely ridiculous, you would have to request a better location for this type of work. You didn’t have to be in the S.T.A.R.S office, just the same floor would be nice.

One officer barely catches you on the third step, and rushes over to make sure the boxes don’t slide off. He quickly suggests using some ties that they have available next time you are in need to haul boxes around the building. You nod and thank him, but you are just too embarrassed to continue a worthy enough conversation. After a stressful trip up the stairs, the officer leaves you to it and you are ready to make the final delivery.

When you enter the office, a few of the members give you a polite nod, but a couple of the men exchange knowing glances at Rebecca, whom you assume already gossiped about the predicament you were in with Chris. You stop as you hear a slamming of a desk coming from Wesker’s office.

 _Looks like he’s giving the Captain an earful_. He was usually getting in trouble for his methods and would get his slaps on the wrist by Wesker. But now you can’t help but wonder why Chris targeted you in such a way that would have him speaking to his own Captain like that. And he is yelling so fast you can’t understand him. You want to lean in and hear the juicy details, even if it’s about you; you couldn’t help that curiosity.

You refocus and ask Rebecca for the best spot for your delivery. She gives you a soft smile as she points to a new cabinet set up.

You experience another workout from the continuous lifting. Once finished, you clap your hands free of any dust and give your farewell to the team. As you pass Wesker’s office, Chris bursts out and bumps into you.

He keeps you from falling by capturing the sleeve of your button down. You immediately yank your arm away and stomp off.

* * *

In your new apartment you plop down onto your mattress which has no bedframe. You at least purchased the sheets needed for it. It’s a bit too warm anyways, so having a mountain of blankets isn’t necessary. As you look around the dimly lit room, you notice scratches and paint peeling in certain areas that you hadn’t noticed before.

The kitchen is terribly small; it’s practically built into the same room as the living room. Thinking about the kitchen only brings dread over having to go out and shop for groceries. You could survive on fast food during the duration of your time here, but you’re already at your limit with the options available.

All that is left was the room you are in. The closet is the one thing you worked to stock up. You didn’t want to struggle with options for work and you needed enough comfortable clothes to get you through weekends alone; sulking away in your empty apartment with the company of a bulky television that was more static than actual programming; a couple of shitty romance novels; and a boom box with a few cassettes.

You mentally recap your first day back, and it was actually successful. Of course, Chris was a problem, but the Chief didn’t bat an eyelash at you and he didn’t pull you aside with any complaints, and he didn’t even nit-pick the way you worked.

You sit up from your bed and walk over to the closet and dress down. You are no longer able to avoid the issue of having nothing to eat for the evening. Your chosen outfit for the night is a white t-shirt, red and black plaid pajama pants, and white tennis shoes. You are tempted to slip your tired feet into some slippers but you don’t want to dirty them during your nightly outing.

The evening is not so successful with the goal of stocking up your fridge; you intended to run in and out from the grocery store only to be tempted by pizza. And with pizza is a very necessary pack of beer you would share with no one.

So, here you are walking through the parking lot to your apartment complex, shimmying through cars that are much too crowded together. You head in the direction of the lobby where your only source of light is the bright and dizzying white hallways that beckons you from outside.

You rush through the lobby as quick as you can so that you could avoid any neighbors, along with their judgmental looks; you had enough of that for a lifetime.

When you step onto the elevator, it is empty and rather creepy with its worn-down state. It’s definitely not a spot you’d like to catch yourself in with any weird individuals. It could use a camera at the very least. When you hear the sound of the elevator coming to a halt, you practically jump out and into the hallway, beelining it to your room. But as you do there is someone just getting home from work, just a few doors down from your place.

He doesn’t notice you as you successfully pass him, but in your panic to avoid him all together, you drop your precious beer. The bottles _clank_ together but there is no real damage done. However, when you hunch down, your box tilts forward enough that your next precious possession is about to pop out and make a splatter on the floor.

“Jesus, fuck.” You balance the box back in place and spare a moment to look over your shoulder at the man in question. He’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants; his hair is hidden in a cap and the only thing that allows you to finally put a name to the face is the sound of his voice. _Dammit, Chris._

“Need some help there?” His tone is so sweet and full of good intent, he clearly didn’t mean that for you. Luck is on your side though as he doesn't realize it's you in your natural state.

“NO, thank you,” you stutter through and you stand up again, armed with your life source as you flee to the next room over-which is yours. You slam the door and quickly lock it.

You had wished for a care-free evening, but you are fighting all of those invading thoughts: Those aggravating thoughts of Chris now ruining any chance of comfort as he is on your home territory.

He’d probably lay claim to this area-and he would be right considering you are new-but at this point you don’t care, and you hope that this is at least the one sanctuary you could escape to. Double trouble at work with him and Wesker, and now you would potentially face his wrath at home when you are simply trying to just slip by unnoticed…unimportant.

* * *

The next few days you are up and ready with a little too much energy. You overdo it with the outfits, with accessories top to bottom and the lipstick is back in full force-ready for the world. Each day you rush out to your car at record speed, on the off-chance Chris pops out and spots you.

Work is normal and you get opportunities to talk to Marvin. And although you are starting from scratch, that natural chemistry between you both is already taking effect and you have him coming from his strict state, down to that softened man who actually shows some hint that your company can be valuable to at least someone in this place.

Emily is also softening up to you. She makes her gratitude known to you, thanking you for at least speaking up on her behalf when it came to keeping her job. It isn’t overdone, just a simple ‘thanks for that.’ And during the week you two have fallen into a routine that results in a system where you actually pick up each other’s slack when needed. Nothing crazy, just wonderfully normal and a show of good faith.

As for the people you are working directly under-they are practically strangers. There are hardly any signs of Wesker or Chris.

It does bother you somewhat that Wesker hasn’t sought you out. It’s those old memories sneaking in and manipulating how you feel. You remember with some fondness how once you two started seeing each other, he would seek you out at work. He wouldn’t bother you, but it always felt like he was looking out for you.

On this day in particular, there is an obvious tension lingering in the air. Emily is in a mood and she barely acknowledges your existence. _At least she did her work_. But as you both sit in silence, trying to find a way to make the time go faster, the source of that tension returns from some meetings.

Chief Irons storms through the entrance and tosses a newspaper to the side. He looks to you and gestures for you to come closer. “Pick that up.” You bite your tongue and grab the paper to dispose. He then shouts for Emily to follow him and you are left to work the front all alone.

But as everyone is whispering over the sudden mood change in the Chief-which isn’t even that different from his usual mood-you browse the paper to see if maybe someone had written something scandalous about him.

The only thing that stands out is the news of the recently vacated orphanage. This specific orphanage was started up by the Chief and it is well regarded, and very much the center of his list of ‘good deeds.’ Except today, the brief article talks about the sudden revelation of poor conditions in the building. This forced the Chief to make the decision to move the kids to a safer location-a location meant to stay undisclosed to the public until further notice.

“Slacking off while on the clock?” You look up at Wesker who appears to have been reading over your shoulder.

“Just recycling.” You shove the paper away and grab a pen and paper. There is nothing to jot down, you just need to look busy.

Wesker stays by your side, looking around at the people whispering to each other as the Chief’s outbursts are getting louder and louder from wherever he is walking towards.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

“I’m sure it is.” Wesker circles around to face you.

“I need you in my office.” You stay frozen as his words are a little too familiar. Such simple and very common words:

_“I need you in my office, now,” he had whispered to you._

_Your little secret. One of many moments shared between you both, and he couldn’t care less for the risk he took, as he bent you over his desk, gripping your ass and…_

You immediately snap yourself out of it as you pinch your hand and nod.

When you arrive, he closes the door behind him, and you catch that pretentious Chris eyeballing you, not even bothering to hide it. But he won’t be able to see now as Wesker pulls his office blinds shut.

“Don’t worry I’ve already talked to him.” Wesker noticed the glare too.

“That…wasn’t necessary.” You start to fiddle with the end of your blouse.

“Oh? So, he’s supposed to talk down to you whenever he feels like? And laying his hands on you was something I should’ve ignored too?” _Speak for yourself._

“No, of course not,” you swallow more pride and continue, “Thank you.”

“Now, now, this isn’t really why I brought you in here. I think a one on one is overdue.”

“You do one on one’s?” You look surprised.

“When I remember,” he says.

After sitting you down, he begins drilling you on your tasks. He wonders about the people around you; whether anyone else gave you trouble. He is curious of your living situation, and if you settled in okay. You of course leave out the part where you sacrificed a bit of quality for convenience, but you move on and you give plain answers that confirm everything is in order.

“I meant to do this sooner, but we will have a desk for you here-soon hopefully,” he speaks plainly.

“Am I not working the front anymore?” you ask.

“You’ll still help Emily when necessary, but you’ll be situated up here for most of the day.”

“Alright,” you answer dully.

“Is this not to your liking?”

“I neither like nor dislike it.” You’re lying _._

“Well, I expect you to keep busy regardless. The team knows not to distract you, so you should be fine.” You nod again.

He finishes the one on one and gives a monotone comment about your good work and sends you on your way. But before you leave, he calls out to you.

“Is everything alright, Miss Reyes?”

“Ugh…yeah?” You assumed the conversation had revealed as much.

“You were all fire and fight last time we spoke.” It looks like he was never going to leave your interactions as normal.

“I’m at work now. No reason for me to be throwing anymore fits.” _Or hands._

“Well, in case you’re feeling too comfortable, don’t forget I’m still out a pair of sunglasses.”

You wave his comment away. “Yes, yes, I’ll get you new ones.”

“Is that what you call an apology?” He is actually trying to look disappointed when you knew he couldn’t care less about something like that.

“You want me to apologize?”

He shrugs. “It’s the least you could do.”

“Alright then, _I’m sorry_.”

“Like you mean it, Miss Reyes.”

“Well I don’t mean it.” He gives a little smile-and not that menacing grin, but a smile and-oh how you hate to admit- but it’s an endearing smile. Something not many people get to see outside of the S.T.A.R.S team; even that was rare for them. It’s just enough to convince you that he was only teasing.

“I’ll get you new ones.” You smile away and give a quick salute before you leave the office.

When you exit the office, most people are trying to concentrate on their work, but you can tell that they are eager to know what you both had been discussing. You didn’t realize how much you were smiling for Wesker, but when you turn towards Chris, he looks upset. _What’s new?_ You can barely place the stream of emotions he goes through. It goes from shock, to accusatory, and then he just chuckles in disbelief. This smile is obviously not meant for him, so you stop yourself and look away quickly and take your leave.


	8. Chapter 8

Your new home phone rings away across the room. You hobble out of bed and plant yourself on the ground, crossing your legs and then answering sluggishly.

“Hello?” A big yawn takes over and the person on the other line smacks their lips in disapproval.

“Are you still asleep!?” Stephanie yells.

“Maybe.” You yawn again.

“It has to be at least noon by now where you’re at!”

“I know.” You rub at your eyes, trying to get your senses together.

“Ugh, I can’t with you sometimes. Sleeping in too much is not good for you!”

“Ah-come on, it’s Saturday! Did you call just to lecture me?” You pout.

“No, no! Some guy just called me saying they’ve been trying to get a hold of you. They are done with the renovations at your house.” You look over to your purse where your cell phone is.

“Oh…okay thank you for letting me know.”

“Aren’t you excited? You finally get your beautiful house back. Not that you’ll be there anytime soon. How long are you supposed to stay there for the investigation anyways?”

“I’m not too sure.” You look around nervously.

“You’re kidding…” she says.

“They can’t just work on one case, they have others too…”

“Still... Anyways, thought I’d let you know. Do you need me to stop by and check out their work?”

“No thank you, I already gave them instructions for that,” you almost say in a high pitched voice, but you control yourself.

“Sounds good. Well, I’ll let you go. Miss ya!”

“Miss you too. Bye.”

As soon as you hang up the call, you start dialing the man who had gotten hold of Stephanie. He immediately answers after the first ring.

“Boss,” the deep voice answers.

“How’s it going?” you ask with a little urgency.

“The maids are a little confused, but everyone is getting settled in.”

“Good. Did you hire anyone else?”

“A few others.”

“I assume their backgrounds are clean.” You start tapping your nails on the floorboard.

The man gives a huff. “More than yours.”

“Good. And the paperwork?”

“We’re in the clear.”

“Perfect,” you say, satisfied.

“What do you want us to do with the others?” You take a moment to ponder but settle for the obvious.

“Business as usual. Make sure to give them my best.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make them feel at home.” You can practically feel that grin from the other end.

“Excellent. Keep up the good work. I’ll call if anything changes.” He hangs up. You practically bounce up with joy, ready to take on the day.

When you wipe away at the foggy mirror after a long and relaxing shower, you wonder what reaction you should’ve had with the news you had just received. You grin and remember what the second half of the work entails, and you didn’t feel a single bit of remorse.

 _No more silly games, (Y/N). You’re just getting started_.


	9. Chapter 9

You set your bag down but Emily immediately holds out a hand and starts shaking her head.

“What?” you ask nervously.

“This is my area, yours is up there.” She points to the upper West side of the building. It takes you a moment and you realize your new set-up must have finally been completed.

“Ah-got it.” You retrieve your bag and head for your new office.

When you arrive, you aren’t exactly sure where you are supposed to go, so you settle with going into the S.T.A.R.S. office. When you enter, Chris immediately gets up to meet you. You roll your lips inward, trying not to say anything that could start an argument, but Chris is already reading your thoughts.

“It’s always going to be _me_ , so don’t complain.” You give him a glare to match his.

“So where am I working?” You look around.

“In here, your highness.”

 _So, it isn’t a new office_ , you think. The last update you had received from Barry, was that they were wanting to clear a room for you, so that you wouldn’t be distracted or worry about the pressure of being in one place with everyone. But they instead had settled on allowing you some space with them. When you enter, the area is mainly empty, as the team was spread throughout the city with various tasks. You look around for anything new, and immediately notice the chunky set up. You grimace at the sight:

It is a large desk that sticks out like a sore thumb and is pressed right up against the wall next to Wesker’s door. And it had to be large enough so that it could hold the computer and a phone. Other than that, it’s a washed-out brown color; bare and without any personality to it. And your seat is a little stool, with no support for your back. Chris walks over to the seat and pulls it out for you, patting away and you watch as the puff of dust sprinkles all around Chris’ hand.

“Let me know if you have any questions,” he says as he immediately turns around to return to his personal area. That whole section is complemented with little personal effects and a signature jacket hanging up on the wall; he looks completely at home. You reluctantly brush away at the seat and plant yourself on the small stool to get to work.

As the day progresses, the members switch out here and there-either taking a lunch; working on paperwork; or settling in after a long day of working on sight somewhere. Chris spends most of his day in the office, and you have to actively keep looking at your computer so that you don't give him any excuse to chastise you.

Luckily, no one abuses the work they give you. They hand over small stacks here and there to file or enter into reports on the computer. You have more than enough tasks to help the day progress at a normal pace. The phone calls you receive are immediately dispersed to different members of the team. And if they aren't present, you take down messages and leave sticky notes on their desks.

Late afternoon comes quickly, and you didn’t realize you hadn’t taken a lunch until Chris comes over to force you out so that you could eat. He follows you out, also intent on taking his break. You’re immediately suspicious of his motives for keeping the same routine as you. He hasn’t done this before. 

You take your lunch in the breakroom. Your meal is absolutely depressing: a simple white breaded sandwich with bologna, and a water. _Ah…a meal fit for kings_. In truth you were too lazy to prep something more appetizing. Meanwhile, Chris is pulling something from a cupboard and prepping to use the microwave. As you take a sad bite into the soggy bread, you look up and realize Chris is planning on eating across from you. You look around you and you don’t see a single soul. Not one.

You try not to give away how irritated you are feeling, so you continue to eat. The sound of chewing, slurping, and gulping being the only things keeping you both company. You look around for a remote, hoping that the sound of the television would be better company.

Chris doesn’t seem to mind. He is just eating away from his cup of noodles, every now and then stopping to clean up with a napkin. He eventually notices you looking around.

“What is it?”

“Huh?” You turn back as he stares at you and waits for you to say something. “Oh…just looking for the remote.” Chris gets up and goes over to a counter, and looks through a drawer. He eventually pulls out the remote and turns the television on; flipping through channels until he settles for some bland sit com.

Dealing with the defeat of not being allowed at least the choice in programming, you keep eating bitterly. Chris seems amused with himself. But as you near the end of your meal, Chris finally turns off the television, coming to the realization that his little attempt at causing you some grief was also making him suffer.

He looks over to you as if ready to speak, but you are already gathering your trash, intent on leaving to finish off your break outside, away from him. You notice him hesitate, as if your sudden escape had put a stop to whatever he was planning.

“Where are you going?” he asks while standing up.

“I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“Mind if I come?” You blink away, completely astonished. You can’t get rid of him. You should’ve just lied.

“I’m just going out to read.” _Get the hint, Redfield!_

“I won’t interrupt,” he says, rather hopeful.

“Fine, do whatever you want.”

When you make it outside you immediately take a seat, and take out a withered book, trying to shield the embarrassing cover with your hands. Not that you didn’t appreciate men’s bodies, you just weren’t particularly into displaying overly chiseled and oiled up bods for the world to see. You also weren’t actually planning on reading this near anyone, but you had to follow through. As expected, Chris sits right next to you.

 _Ah, screw it_. 

You decide to move the book up in front of your face, this time not trying to hide the cover, and continue to read where you left off. _Things were getting steamy_ …

Chris turns to you, but he suddenly has a need to clear his throat, and if you aren’t mistaken, he might be choking on some spit.

“I not even going to ask,” he says as he composes himself.

“Good.” You hide your smile behind the book.

Chris is trying to give you the peace that you need, but he can’t help that constant tapping of his foot. He eventually caves in. “So…listen.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to interrupt.” You lay the book down on your lap and give him your best fed up expression.

“I know! I know…I just want to clear something up. I just wanted you to know that I don’t intend on making your life difficult at work. We are going to be working together for a while and I want us to get along.”

“I’m here to work, not make friends. So please don’t overthink this. You do you, and I’ll keep to myself,” you say rather coldly.

“At least let me apologize. I don’t make it a habit to treat people like how I’ve treated you. I’m sorry for that. There’s a lot going on. But I just wanted to make that clear to you.”

“What exactly has you acting like this?” You needed more than a simple apology.

He looks you in the eye, but he doesn’t say a single word. It hurts a little. You thought that your confrontation with him from the beginning was straight forward. He was smug and hurtful, and he didn’t even know why you took it so personal, but you did-given your own unique memories of him. And when it was time to accept the consequences, you dealt with them as best as you could. And when he was your personal chauffeur, you gave him an apology. Still, he thought the worst of you even after that.

“It’s just work.” He settles for vague, and you aren’t satisfied.

“Like spying on me?” You decide to test the waters. His features are still as stone. He doesn’t want to give anything up. It would be too obvious of course. Staying in the office when you do; taking a lunch at the same time; making a move to earn your trust. Too obvious…but you’ve already asked.

“Why would I waste my time like that?” he says hotly.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, because I wanted to apologize.” You have to look away, unsure of whether you should just accept it so easily.

You’re silent for a minute. You knew that they were still suspicious of you. You were not guilty against them, but you were certainly guilty of some things; nothing they can prove. But you’d rather Chris prove his sincerity through actions.

“You aren’t going to accept.” He figures you out.

“I don’t feel ready to.”

“Alright. Thanks for your honesty.” He doesn’t sound angry, which is surprising. And you appreciate that he isn’t pressuring you anymore.

You give a timid nod before you turn back to your book and continue where you left off. Chris leaves your side and disappears for the rest of the lunch hour.

When you return to work, you notice Jill is back. She was not so subtle as she looks you over, and then over to Chris as he turns to meet her gaze. You try to keep your focus on your computer, but you steal a glance once they are distracted enough. She gives a questioning shrug over to Chris, and he simply shakes his head and gives a thumbs down.


	10. Chapter 10

For the first time since you’ve started your job this year, you are tasked to do some clean up. It is helping eat away at the time, but you are still irked. Somehow everyone was too busy to keep up with their own areas. You kept your area clean, and you wonder how it was that they couldn’t just keep up with something like a simple wipe down of their area. Or even simpler: moving their trash from on top of their desk, to their trash bins right under.

You are combining all of their trash into one large bag for easier transport, and when you are ready to move it outside, you are doing your best to keep it away from your clothes. And when you return from your brief outing, you look around the main office and it doesn’t even look like you did anything. Piles of papers are stacked in all corners; notebooks are sprawled everywhere; and somehow more snacks and drinks have made it back to their desks. _They are working hard; they need their energy_. You try to understand the chaos, but it is driving you mad.

You desperately need to look at some sort of order, so you decide to head into Wesker’s office to at least polish it up. But when you enter, he is just as bad as everyone else. You can’t believe the sight before you: He has notes everywhere and the trash is bordering as a danger zone with how high it piles. You are left with no choice but to bring all of the cleaning equipment in.

With a crack of your knuckles, you point over to Wesker.

“Alright, Captain. You better tell me which things you don’t want me to move or throw, because everything else is fair game.”

Wesker looks up at you and simply points to the stacks of papers on his desk. “These, stay.” With that, you start your onslaught of cleaning, and pay no mind to Wesker’s sigh of annoyance as you stomp around: wiping, dusting, and collecting. And you are careful enough to separate any official documents for shredding. You are so focused that you barely notice how Wesker leaves his post suddenly.

“Put that down! Everyone over here! I don’t have all day.” You hear the Chief’s demands and you are trying to join the others for this sudden meeting, but Wesker is blocking the door. He shuts it before you can get a word in. You tap at the door to get his attention, and he opens it enough for him to peek through and whisper: “Stay in there.” You frown at him but reluctantly stay. As the door is gently shut, you continue your tasks.

You only utilize a few minutes to appear busy, but when everyone appears to be at full attention, you find a corner where you can stay out of sight and listen:

“-Struck at night, with no witnesses. The media doesn’t know they were taken. I expect the outmost discretion so that we keep it that way. Do I make myself clear?” Everyone answers in unison and the Chief yells a dismissal and is most likely leaving at this point. At the sound of the door knob turning, you rush over to Wesker’s desk and take a seat in his chair.

Wesker enters and closes the door. He seems a little distracted but soon fixes his eyes on you as you sway from left to right, trying to appear bored. “You look at home,” he says as he walks over to you.

“Must be nice, having all this space for yourself. Speaking of, what the heck happened in here? You’re usually super clean.”

“The second I heard you would be cleaning, I made sure you had something to do in here.”

“You’re kidding…” You stop the chair from swaying, giving Wesker a look of disbelief.

He shrugs, not choosing to deny or confirm. “It got you in here, didn’t it?”

“Stop messing with me, I’m not picking up another scrap.”

“That’s fine.”

“You’re not going to order me to finish the job?”

“I can finish the rest.” You stare at him suspiciously, but you decide to change the subject.

“So… what was the meeting about?”

“You mean you couldn’t hear everything when you were leaning in that little corner over there?”

“Maybe,” you say smugly.

“Well, sounds like you’re out of luck.”

You give him a shrug and simply accept that you aren’t always going to be in the know when it comes to the cases they are working on. You have a good idea what it was about anyway.

“If I wasn’t supposed to hear anything, then why didn’t you kick me out completely?”

“No reason. Unless you actually wanted the Chief to spot you and yell at you.”

“No, no, not getting yelled at for once is always good.” You put your hands up in defeat. “Alright here’s your seat back.” You stand up and despite what he said, you intend to finish up the cleaning, knowing well enough that leaving it as is, is going to leave you feeling anxious.

“(Y/N).” Hearing your name causes you to freeze. Except what you are feeling isn’t dread or uneasiness. It oddly feels comforting, and you look over to him and hold your breath, unsure of what is bringing on this change in tone from him. 

The door slams open, and Chris is rushing in with his most recent report. But before he can speak, he looks over to you and points to the door. You respond with a high raised eyebrow and cross your arms, and you look to Wesker to give you the order instead.

“Please,” Chris insists.

 _Let me just…rip that perfect hair off your head!_ Of course, there would be an interruption.

"We’ll finish up our discussion another time, Miss Reyes.” Wesker reluctantly settles in his seat and waits for Chris to unleash whatever updates he has.

With that you leave them to their business. Although the rest of the hour you are rather aggressive with how you handle your work; causing some extra noise with the slamming of books, and the not so gentle shifting of furniture around as you continue to clean.

* * *

You are in need of a bath. It’s what you think when you look over your body. All of the dusting, and the wiping with furniture polish has left a residue on your fingers, and you aren’t entirely sure you aren’t covered head to toe in the same dusty and oily mixture. When you make it to the bathroom, you do your best to clean up. As you rub your hands clean and dry with a paper towel, you try to ignore the soreness already creeping in. And the stinging of your muscles were already promising an evening of zero production; and a nap that will keep you in bed through the night.

You still have to cover Emily’s break however, so you lazily stomp to the front. You find that your composure is coming back to you as you observe Emily hunched over and her fingers gripping at chunks of her hair. You approach her with extreme caution. You give a little cough and she sits up and is anything but surprised. She takes you in, and leans back in her chair, trying to tune you out.

“Everything alright?”

“I don’t know.” She sounds completely drained. She isn’t the most energetic person you know, but she is clearly not in her normal state of mind. You walk over and confirm the time on her computer.

“I’ve got it covered from here. Go and try to relax.” When she turns towards you, her cheeks are stained red and her eyes don’t have that shine of a glimmering youth. Something is wrong. And when you look her over, you notice a very familiar stain on her blouse that she is trying to hide with her blazer.

“I think I might need to go home for the day,” she insists; not waiting for permission from anyone as she packs up, refusing to look at you. The grudge that has stayed with you all these years has not diminished in any capacity, and you can easily guess that the Chief was slipping into his abusive ways again-you just hope it's not too far in. You tighten your hand into a fist and crouch down slightly to her level.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” When she looks at you, you recognize the look. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen it on yourself in the mirror.

“I-I did everything he asked me to do…but-” she looks down at her blouse and shivers. “He asked me out you know. I turned him down of course. That’s the normal thing to do right? Why do I have to pay the price for wanting to keep things professional?” She is whispering now, and you can’t blame her for her fear of being overheard. Even so, you aren’t going to let this be swept under the rug. You had avoided the Chief taking any interest beyond your ability to do your work to his level of standards, but Emily was experiencing a level of pain that you doubted anyone would want to intervene in at R.P.D. And it pisses you off, because this place has a lot of hero worship; articles upon articles of the Chief's good deeds, and the S.T.A.R.S team cleaning up some messes. But you don’t see enough people using their skills to help the ‘smaller’ ones in the workplace.

“Enjoy your day off.” You take your seat at the front and take over her work. She looks to you with a bit of concern; perhaps she had said what she was thinking but wasn’t actually planning on following through with her statement. Someone would be looking for her eventually.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back from my lunch in a bit.” She tries to change her mind but you shake your head.

“Enjoy you day off, Emily,” you say with a bit of finality. She gives you a nod, although hesitating at the thought that you have just excused her from her job, which is not in your power to do so.

You remember that HR is still a thing you could reach out to, but even those people hadn’t changed this time around, and they did nothing for you in the past. Things were looking grim.

Although her absence is felt with the number of calls and visitors you get, your own absence finally catches the attention of the S.T.A.R.S. team. And the one person tasked to follow you around, searches for you. When he finds you, he leans in and waits for you to say something. But you don’t, because you’re used to making things difficult for him.

“Em’s lunch should be over by now. What’s the deal?” he asks, with expected annoyance. You look up and give an exhausted huff.

“She went home.”

“What?” Chris eyes you like you are about to reveal that you scared her away.

“She’s not feeling good.” You try to soothe him. 

“Ah-well that’s a shame.” He looks a little flustered. You wonder for a moment if he has actually taken her out on any dates yet. But you try not to let your thoughts wander too much. You aren't meant to remain comfortable. 

_It’s going to get worse_. The warning cuts through and you feel as if you are in Emily’s place suddenly. You regret having to live with the memory of brushing off every incident with the Chief only to succumb to more verbal and physical lashings.

You storm off, ignoring the various glances piercing right through you. You just can’t find yourself with the ability to care.

“Hey where are you going?” Chris shouts after you.

“I forgot to do something,” you call back and Chris just looks around in confusion. He will follow you, you are sure of it.

Something else is coming to you now. As you sort through the memories, you can’t help but think of the Captain. You liked the sweet interaction earlier, but it blinded you. It blinded you because deep down you are actually hoping that you are mistaken about him. That he is not capable of hurting you.

And then you remember how this station ended up getting run down to the ground; everyone lost and confused because no one had the gall to push for new leadership. You feel your barriers coming apart. The _real you_ starting to crawl through the layers of submission you have been displaying. The layers of pretending to not know what is going on between Umbrella and the Chief. That you didn’t have a hand in moving your piece on the chess board just to disrupt the peace that the Chief thought he had. Going to the Captain now was the last thing you could do. You hope he does something this time. Because if he doesn’t, then you are going to make this stay in Raccoon City much shorter than anyone anticipated.

_“What should I do?” you had asked, naked and tucked neatly under soft linen and perched up on sinfully soft pillows. Wesker was forcing an arm under you, to allow you to rest your head against his arm so that he could feel your warm skin against his._

_You did everything in your power to avoid the Chief, just as Marvin suggested. But he finally found that shaking you and intimidating you had grown stale. He grabbed at your arm and pulled you against a desk, slamming your back so hard against it that you thought your legs would collapse under you. His fingers were on your throat and all you could do was struggle; trying to talk-trying to apologize. You didn’t want to apologize, but your wanting to live outweighed your pride. Irons eventually loosened his grip and leaned in:_

_“What was that?” he asked, his breath heavy and his sweat dripping on you._

_“I-I’m sor-sorry,” you said with very little strength. To this he smiled._

_“That’s my girl, now go and clean yourself up.”_

_You spent that night burning your anger away with Wesker. His unrelenting force making you forget for a moment that your life was in shambles at work. He wasn’t gentle when fucking you that night, and it was okay because he was fighting through something too. He admitted as much when he talked about being tired of following orders. He said it plainly, but it was enough to get you to open up to him a little. And you hated yourself because you still downplayed how bad everything was; unsure as to why you insisted on doing so. As he considered your question, he mindlessly leaned in closer, as if you both were something more than just lovers._

_“The way I see it, you have two choices: You bide your time and wait for the right moment to strike back at him. Or you quit. But not just quit… you need to leave the city. Start fresh somewhere and never look back.” 'And leave you behind?' You can’t help thinking._

_“Could you help me stop him?”_

_“I could so long as it doesn’t compromise what I have to do at work.” You wanted to slap him. Why you fell for this rough man was beyond you._

_“However, I suggest you pick option number two.”_

_“You want me to leave?” You shied away a little at having asked this out loud when you intended to just listen._

_He stayed quiet, and you were wondering if he was trying not offend you by confirming it. But when he answered, it shocked you. “I don’t want you to leave. But it’s your best option for survival.”_

It isn’t until now that you realize that he knew something more, didn’t he?

As you recollect yourself from the memory, you close the door behind you with a little too much force, but when Wesker looks up at you, he is nothing but smiles.

“Continuing where we left off?” he suggests, but you hold a hand up as if to stop him.

“Do something about Irons.” You don’t stutter. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he walks over to you and studies you.

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“Dig up his dirty laundry for the world to see, and end his career here at R.P.D.”

“Last I checked, you are the one with the resources, why not do it yourself?” He throws your words back at you.

 _‘Umbrella is too big_.’ Your father’s words echo through you. It frightened you but it is also coupled with how you don’t want to blow what little cover you have.

“Because I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing. You all have the chance to do the right thing. But because you are all too absorbed in your own shit, you don’t see that he is harassing Emily.” You feel like you are on fire; your eyes never betraying any fear that might be there. 

“And if I don’t?” he says, absolutely amused and he is looking at you like you are serving up something that was tempting him. You have to ignore that look in his eyes; that familiar and dangerously hypnotic look that made you feel like he is going to trap you.

“You’ve been watching me. How about you tell me? What do you think I’m capable of?” You are practically baring your teeth at him, and you can tell he is loving every second. Your anger is fueling him, and you don't understand why he is now revealing how much he is craving that chaos that is threatening to leave you.

“I’m still trying to figure that out Miss Reyes. But I do suspect you have some weight to your words. Although, I have half a mind to consider what you are telling me and running with my suspicions about you.” He smirks.

“And if I found something about _you_ , Captain?” You threaten. He does not look amused anymore.

“I doubt you’d find anything.”

“Who says I haven’t already?” You bluff.

He circles around you. He is close enough that you feel little touches around your arms and back, grazing you with the sleeve of his shirt as if by accident. He eventually places a hand against your lower back and he leans in against your ear and whispers, “Alright, I’ll play. But we’ll start small. And might I suggest: you go have fun with the Chief. Get him to concede, and I’ll make sure that leash stays on him.”

You create space between you and him. You can't help feel a little excited at the prospect. He is painting a scenario where he allows you to break free and do as you wish...He seems like another person. Perhaps he is very capable of being your killer, but you are going to bite down and savor what he offers because you want to see if he'll prove himself by keeping his word. With a grin you agree and make your exit. 

Chris is waiting for you, but you decide to lie because you didn’t want to drag him into this game any further.

“Captain is asking for you.” You point to the office and keep walking. 

A little while later you are strutting through the office and you look around quickly. You soon spot a familiar drawer. You quietly open it and pull out an old styled letter opener. No plastic, just a long and seemingly sharp tool being held painfully tight between your fingers.

The Chief has his back turned for a moment, but when he swings around in his chair, you stand across him in front of his desk, hiding the letter opener behind you.

“What is it?”

“I have a request.” He sneers but he is interested enough.

“Go on.”

_Get straight to the point, (Y/N)._

“Leave Emily alone. You will not interfere with her work life or her personal life. It should be as if the world is completely normal and at peace with her.”

“That’s not a request; more like you're demanding. And frankly, my business with Emily is none of _your_ fucking business.”

“Oh, it very much is my business.” You bite down on your lip.

“I’m done having this conversation. Get the fuck out. In fact, pack your stuff; you’re fired.”

“No, I think I’m going to stay and I’m going to figure out everyone’s dirty little secrets. But here’s the kicker, Chief-I already know all of yours.”

“And what is it that you suspect me of doing?” He laughs.

“Where do you want me to start? The missing women or the missing children?”

He lunges at you but he stops as soon as you lift your hand, and the point of the letter opener presses into his neck.

“It’s simple. Leave her alone. Leave everyone alone. I don’t know how many women you’ve got in your sights; but you will stop interacting with them. Because if you don’t, I will make sure everyone knows about you.”

“I could lock you up somewhere no one would ever find you. And you don’t even want to know the things I would do to you.” He spits.

“Yes, but if you behave, you don’t have to dirty your hands, and I don’t have to send every newspaper the wonderful pictures I’ve acquired recently.”

“You’re bluffing.” He scowls.

“What exactly is Umbrella doing with those kids?” His eyes go wide and you hear him panicking with every exerted breath.

You never wanted to give away so much, but you are feeling that rush. It is dangerous and you are starting to remember another reason why you had to force yourself to stay away from the city. Because after the fear melted away, you found that the little power you fought for had made you rather greedy. You loved making others terrified. Better them, than you. 

“Let’s try an easier question: How much is Umbrella paying you?” You press in. It isn't meant to be a sharp tool, but you continue to press until his skin splits and you draw a little blood.

“What is it that you want? Money? I can get you that. Although it might take some time-” He squirms a little as you draw more blood.

“I already told you what I wanted. Are you going to agree? Or are you going to watch as I burn you from the inside out?”

“Fine. It’s simple enough. I don’t have to waste my money on a cunt-”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Why are your men investigating me, I wonder?” You let that hang in the air before you continue. “I’ll be watching you and noting every little thing that you do. Oh, and I expect this to be a special little secret between us. Got it?” He doesn’t answer but he nods.

You return to Wesker, and you do your best to ignore Chris who has nothing but concern on his face.

“So?” Wesker asks as he locks the door behind you.

“It’s done. Do I have your word?” You feel the tension leave you, but now the panic is starting to settle in. Except, Wesker has a way to distract you from that.

Instead of answering, he inches closer and tilts your chin, his lips lightly pressing against yours. You almost give in, your body leaning for that sweet release you’ve been craving. And he teases with the swipe of his tongue. As your breath hitches, you grab his wrist and gently push him away. You can’t forget that he is hiding something. Killer or not.

He doesn’t look upset, instead he looks like he just got front row tickets to his favorite show _. He’s slipping just like you_. He is close to showing you who he really is.

“Yes, you have my word, (Y/N). I’ll be looking forward to seeing what else you have up your sleeve.”

You don’t have a response. You compose yourself and leave.


	11. Chapter 11

Riding back home you are fighting off the dread that has begun eating at your confidence. You were supposed to stay composed. You were supposed to stick to your plan. But how were you supposed to do that to begin with when you are right smack in the middle of this cursed city? And Wesker…He was doing it all over again. He didn’t have to say much if anything at all. If he hadn’t just teased-if he had just allowed his lips to crush into yours, you’d be at his mercy and you hate to admit that you would not have been against it. You would be reclaiming a part of your past that at the time felt a little normal. Perhaps not a sort of normal that set your future in place; where there was a possibility of marriage and family. Even so, that piece that you had was normal enough.

And what is irritating you more than your sudden call to threatening the Chief, was how bold Wesker was earlier. This wasn’t some late evening where most people had left for the day. He was about to devour you with the majority of the team remaining nearby. And it would have definitely been _devoured;_ in that you were confident. It would have been exhausting, exhilarating, and he would have tormented you by providing such sweet release that you’d be in danger of being exposed.

With your feelings in a muddled mess, you return to your apartment with great relief. You get comfortable and quickly rummage through the snack options you have and fuel up for the evening.

There are a few messages waiting for you on your phone. When you play them, they are a welcome home gift in their own right. A couple were from your father who was simply checking in on you. Another one was from Stephanie who was confirming some care packages-little ‘pick me ups’ so that you could get through this nonsense. They would also serve as things you wouldn’t miss should you have to leave your stuff behind. Which is looking to become a reality pretty soon with how you acted.

You have just one more message, and unfortunately for you, it's not one that you welcome.

“Hello, this message is for (Y/N) Reyes. I’m calling to update you on your most recent order. We have come into some trouble, but a replacement is heading your way. Once again there is some trouble-” This message continues with the formalities over the 'food delivery,' and to give a call back if there are any concerns. With that the woman had hung up. You knew who was speaking and so you knew what to listen for:

_Trouble. Headed your way._

The message was vague, and it wasn’t their fault as you had asked them to keep any updates under the guise of everyday simplicities.

Even so, you rush to contact your source. Someone had been digging around for more intel about you. The Chief might have already broken his flimsy promise but that also doesn’t mean Wesker isn’t continuing to dig around to satisfy that intensified curiosity that you encouraged by playing into his hand.

* * *

You force yourself to make a gun purchase the next day. No longer staying in the background, protecting yourself is of the outmost importance. Unfortunately, you don’t have any of your gear from home, thus the impulse buy. 

And before your shopping trip, you had insisted that you needed a day off, and to your relief there wasn’t any push back. Thanks to Enrico's understanding, you had bought some time for yourself to recuperate. You didn't shy away from asking him over Emily's 'health' to which he happily stated that she was more than back to full energy and seemed in good spirits. That would have to do for now. 

Your day is rather boring. You keep to yourself and go over the option of leaving early. Your father had encouraged as much. Things were definitely not exactly going how you’d hoped. By the end of your self-debate, you decide it might yet be too early; and that would mean enough time for there to be some back lash that could extend to your family. You now had _two_ deals with Wesker that he would hold over your head. Inevitably, the thought of how long you could get away with murder does dance around in your mind; how long before this place comes to an end and you could go back to being that vision of normal you hoped to achieve.

You lose yourself in what many people do in times of uncertainty: you eat; get lost in other worlds with reading; snack; go over constant scenarios of arguments involving both family and coworker; and then you take a nap to dream away the stress. It is as such until you find yourself sitting at the small excuse of a dining table and you give in to another cigarette. You lean over, laying your head on one arm while the other is outstretched over the ash tray, letting the cigarette diminish with the constant falling of ash. You look over to the large clock hanging on the wall showing you how late it had gotten. Now nearing midnight, you smash the cigarette into the tray and prepare for bed.

You give a bit of a shout, and stretch to ease some tension in your muscles. You brush your teeth and then give in to a hot shower that will hopefully bring in the actual high quality of relaxation you need before time runs out; until you find yourself at work again. Afterward, you slip into your preferred nightwear and slide into bed. And once the lights are off, you are just staring at the ceiling.

As you stare at the odd shapes painted into the ceiling that were illuminated by the moonlight, you hear a small clang of sorts. Not quite the creaking you hear in the walls of an old building, but more of a foreign object making contact with something inside the home. You turn on your lamp and take a moment to allow your eyes to adjust. As you take in the scene around you, you spot through your periphery how the curtain on your window is slightly tucked into the frame.

You casually walk over to the window, and with a slight pull it opens with ease. You feel that slight kiss of warm air hit you. It would be a perfect time to take a nightly stroll, or play some music as you enjoyed the view of a bright and revitalizing moon. But your mind is set to sleep enough for the coming work day. You shut it back in place. As you confirm the locking of the window with a soft click, you can’t help but keep harping over _when_ exactly you had opened the window in the first place?

You don’t feel good. Knowing how much safer you’d feel with your pistol at your side, you pull open your drawer to the bedside table and reach in. Instead, you are met with a flat surface.

 _It’s gone_.

You don’t waste a single second; your feet are moving before you can go through every possible scenario. Your fingers grip your purse as you’re running, not intending on leaving your keys behind. Instantly, your hand is searching for both keys and phone. But when you make it out into the hallway, a sturdy hand pulls you in by the shoulder.

As you attempt to pull away, you try to scream but this intruder is muffling your shouts with a tight grip of their hand. And when you turn to flee, they make quick work and take hold of your neck, tightening their fingers more and more with each fleeting second. It’s excruciating. You feel the pressure build up and your eyes tear up. The room around you is becoming silhouetted in darkness as unconsciousness threatens to take you. You try to identify your attacker, but you are only met with an image hidden in black clothing and a ski mask.

Even as they keep you still, advantage on their side, there is enough you know. You just have to create an opportunity to get away. You reach around and with a steady arm you slam down on their outstretched arm, causing their elbow to collapse; thus, loosening their hold on you.

You could stay and fight. You could use all of that practice to good use, but you can’t stop that self-doubt from forming. Fear is ever-present and you choose to listen to it. Survival is your priority. You choose to run away now that you have stolen a few precious moments. You burst through the door and run through the hallway. You are met with dim lighting, and as you barrel through the aged hallway you spot the elevator straight ahead. But as you near it, a pop echoes through, followed by two more.

You can’t move anymore. You peer down and press your fingers onto your stomach. As you lift them gently, they are coated in red. You press your palm into the wound, praying that you can keep up enough strength to maintain pressure. The pain steals away your bravery, unable to put to words what this sharpness is doing to you. You are determined to leave; however, in an instant you collapse as your leg suddenly feels as if it is shattering into pieces. You drop to the ground and cry out.

You force a glance over your shoulder but you don’t see the intruder in black anymore. Instead, what you do notice is the soft murmuring of strangers investigating. You hear some doors swinging open, and some cries for help. Except, no one bothers to come near you. The disappointment hits strong, and you want to demand the help you need. However, you find that your screams are caught in your throat.

As the anger boils in you, a pressure forms around your waist and when you look up you see Chris looking down at you. His intense gaze scans your wounded body for any and all injuries. His fervent need to save people kicking in right before your eyes. You’ve heard it enough times your first go around in life-how determined he was to protect those around him. But this is the first time you are able to witness it.

He is applying pressure to your wound, trying to speak to you but you can barely hear anything. He is shouting now, saying your name, and cupping your face in his hands. He is encouraging you to stay focused.

“You can make it, you stubborn…” His plea fades out into nothingness.

You want to thank him. You reach up so that he understands that it is okay… _this is enough_. Chris’ hand grips onto yours firmly; trying to ease your trembling.

The shadow overtakes you once again.

* * *

Something spills into your mouth, causing you to choke for a moment. When you catch your bearings, you find that you are soaking in water. You look down at your naked body, and then you take in the surrounding. You recognize where you are: your shower. This is still your shabby apartment.

You don’t know how long you’ve been soaking in here, so you turn off the shower head and make your exit. You have to fight for balance against the walls of your bathroom; your mind still reeling from the shock of having been shot. You feel a heavy fit of nausea that is refusing to go away; however, you hold the bile in and you rush to wrap a towel around your body and quickly leave to inspect your room.

You are keen on looking for your calendar to confirm the day, but you catch on to the inevitable ticking time-bomb as you look to the window.

The curtain is tucked in...

You can’t stop, you quietly pull open that drawer and sure enough your gun is still missing. You know what this means, therefore you have to think quickly. Instead of acting panicked you give a quick look out of your window. The drop is too high with nothing to hold onto.

_Think, think, think._

You do your best to keep cool. How long do you have until they decide to act? Were they originally waiting until you were asleep? You were fine up until you decided to run, but that doesn't change the fact that you need an excuse to leave. You need to give enough of a guarantee that you would return to the apartment as to not alarm them enough to attack immediately. But for now, you had some very strong words waiting for the Captain. You close the bedroom door normally, and then retreat into the bathroom which you also close. You start dialing Wesker.

He doesn't answer, but you wait for his machine to beep in time for a message:

Your tone is as harsh as can be while maintaining a whisper. "Wesker, I swear if your word means so little that I'm immediately being targeted in my own house, then I will make sure to take you down with me, believe me when I say that. Get your fucking ass over here _now_ and get rid of the son of a bitch trying to kill me."

You hang up and keep the phone close to your chest, and decide that it could still prove useful. You walk out into the living room and act as if you are in the middle of a conversation. "-Oh you didn't have to come all the way here. Let me come out to meet you real quick." You grimace, unsure if this sounded convincing enough to alert your attacker. You look over to the kitchen area, which is one of the spots left for the intruder to hide; you consider that there is still the small hallway closet that they could be in as well. Regardless, you do your best to calmly leave. Even if you'd threatened Wesker into action, you can't chance waiting any longer. 

The true test comes when you open the door. You expect the hand to reach out for you, but it doesn’t come. So, you quietly make your exit, closing the door without displaying your newly acquired knowledge.

You immediately realize that in your haste, you left with just your towel on. Fighting is looking to be out of the question. You go down the hallway in search for Chris. When you step in front of what you assume to be his room, and elderly woman answers instead.

“Oh my-” she says as she looks you over, your current state clearly making her nervous. 

“I-I’m so sorry. I was looking for the officer who lives on this floor.”

“Hmph!” she snickers. She expects you to be looking for Chris for other reasons, you suspect.

“There’s some suspicious people on this floor. I was hoping for his help.” She keeps shooting you that accusatory look, but once you look back at your apartment, you start to tremble again as you expect the attacker to pop out to investigate.

“Next door.” She points before she slams the door shut.

You work quick and start slamming your hands on his door. But you are left to the silence of the hallway. Still no sign of any one from your room, but your nerves are making you nauseous again. You become more aggressive and start pounding away. In an instant, you almost fall into the doorway as he swings it wide open.

“W-who…(Y/N)?” he asks completely shocked as he looks you over. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You can’t stop yourself, you immediately run into his house and close the door. You’re hyperventilating and you can’t keep focus as you have finally found him. “P-Please…” you force yourself to speak.

“What’s wrong?” He helps keep you still; you hadn't realized how weak your legs felt until you nearly collapse into his arms. 

“T-there is someone in my apartment,” you say. 

“Here?” He confirms as you point down the direction of where your apartment is. “What number?”

“1336…” you say.

He considers your words. Finally he opens the door and speaks, "Wait here." 

“WAIT," you grab onto his arm, " my gun...it's _missing_. Someone is in there, I know it.” You give him a hawk-eye stare, and you drag him back into the apartment. “Where’s your gear?” you ask as you look around. He doesn’t answer. He proceeds to take your wrist and guides you to the couch in his living room, urging you to sit. Once he disappears into his room, you can hear him scrambling and rushing to suit up.

When he exits the room, he shoots one final look. “Do not come out for anything. I’ll get you when I’m done checking.” You nod.

The minutes drag on. You stay perched on his soft couch, your knees tucked up to your chin and you are just watching the door for Chris. He never enters.

Gunshots ring through and you shoot up. You stupidly ignore his request and you run back to your apartment. And when you get there, the door is wide open but the scene is nothing but calm. Chris is standing over the body of the attacker. There are visible marks on Chris' face; but the ones on the attacker are much more brutal. Without the mask, you are staring down at a man with brown hair and light skin. As grateful as you are that Chris dealt with him, the fact that this man is still breathing really sets something off in you. You can’t trust that you are 100 percent safe.

“I told you to stay put,” he snaps at you. Still catching his breath, he looks around until he spots your home phone. He quickly dials away and waits until he gets in contact with R.P.D.

He searches through the stranger's pockets, and what he finds sends a crippling chill through you. There are a couple of pictures of _you_. 

"Know him?" Chris asks as he looks the pictures over. You shake your head. Your heart feels as if it is in danger of stopping, because one of the pictures in hand is one you hadn't seen before: You were much younger; a child in clothes you wouldn't recognize as your own nor as any your father would have precured for you. All frills, and hair up in an ornate braid. 

"May I?" you ask as your eyes never leave the photos. Chris hands them over and you acknowledge one of them from your college days. While the other one did not trigger any sort of memory for you. You flipped them over and you aren't even given any hints for how he got these pictures. There was apart of you that wished there was some secret message written on them. But the backs of them were blank and you are not any closer to understanding this situation. 

Chris never asks for them back, and you had expected him to. But you were so shocked that it must have been enough for him to take in your honest reaction and trust that you truly didn't know this person before you. 

Before anyone arrives, he is at your side in the hallway, keeping his eyes on the still form in the apartment; now cuffed up and without any ability to flee if they were to wake. You peer up at him and take in his bloodied lip. There is a small gash near his eye as well.

“Shall I take you to the hospital?” you ask earnestly.

“No,” he says.

“But…” You carefully stretch your hand out only for him to step away from your touch, as if any contact from you would contaminate him. Although there is a little more color to his cheeks now. You say a quiet apology, realizing that you have to be careful with unwanted contact.

“I’ll be fine.” He tries to ease your concerns.

Another ten minutes go by, and when the officers get there, they are quick to collect the unconscious man and take him away. Meanwhile, one officer is taking down statements from both of you before calling it a night and leaving back to the station.

“Hey.” You look up and you see Chris hovering over you. He had returned from his perimeter check around the apartment complex and checking your room of course. He is lowering his hand out for you and it causes you to pause. One moment he is condemning any physical contact, and now he is offering it. Still, you graciously take it so that he can pull you up from your seated position. “I’ve already checked everything. Nothing to be worried about anymore. Ah-well there is some damage to the walls now…”

It still didn't feel like enough. You needed him to recheck that everything is safe before even attempting to enter your apartment again. You wrap your arms around your frame, feeling a little odd still being in your towel. You awkwardly shift and lean in. You look over to your apartment and you still can’t bring yourself to go inside. “Go get some rest,” he encourages you by pushing the door open. You still refuse to move.

He is watching you, but you don’t bother to look up at his face. Rather quickly, he closes your door and carefully grabs your hand. “Come on.”

You let him touch you. He is guiding you. And soon enough you are standing by his bed as he switches out the sheets for you. “Alright get some rest.” He pats a couple of pillows in place as he finishes his project.

“Are you sure? Where are you going to sleep?” you ask timidly. 

“I mean that would have been a good question to ask before I brought out the fresh sheets.” He finally gets a smile out of you. “Alright, I’ll be on the couch. Oh-and I left you some clothes.”

He barely acknowledged your state of undress until now; still, you smile at his offer. He is about to leave but you call out to him, “This…isn’t right. Stay on your bed. I’ll use the couch.”

You expected the argument. It never came. He walks over to you and swoops you up in his arms and plops on you on the bed. You can’t help the little squeak that leaves you. All of a sudden, he is draping you in covers and is basically tucking you in. “Stop. Being. Stubborn.”

He’s already across the room, turning off the lights and closing the door.

You are having a hard time recovering from this new type of shock. He did everything so fast. It was too damned smooth. You are still as a statue as he had really tucked you in tightly; feeling like you are about to be mummified. You eagerly loosen the covers so that your limbs can stretch leisurely. It’s nice though. For the first time in a while, awkwardness helps you instead of hindering you. You giggle quietly as you replay how intense and serious Chris looked as he trapped you under the blankets.

When you break free from these bonds, you walk over and dress in the pajama pants and shirt he left out for you, and you slip into his bed.

Lost to your thoughts, you don’t realize you’re lightly pressing your fingers on your stomach. And when you recover from your constant thoughts, you realize the new set of scars that are in place. 


	12. Chapter 12

You look out of the window and watch on as people stroll by. The air is consumed with various meals passing you by, making your stomach rumble. You had settled for a location with a brunch menu, and very much looked forward to your order of eggs and pancakes. You cross your legs and continue to tap your nails on the table with little patience. A waiter comes by and places your drink-hot tea- before you and you give a gracious smile back. But as soon as the pleasant company leaves, you are back to your sour expression.

The previous night was nothing short of torture. With going through another cycle of your demise, you were a little too comfortable with the surroundings Chris gave you. You had woken up from your sleep to extreme pain shooting from your leg to your stomach. And when you practically launched at record speed to the bathroom to throw up, you were smacked with a terrible sight of bile and blood. The blood itself was flowing freely from your nose. Your stomach lurched and turned at the onslaught of sick. You couldn’t control any of it, resulting in your blood splattering onto Chris’ shirt he had lent to you.

After cleaning yourself up as best as you could, you had checked the time and discovered that Chris was nowhere in sight. The time was around six in the morning which inevitably signaled for most of R.P.D’s staff to scatter out of their homes in time for work. When you looked in the living room, a note was waiting for you:

**_At work. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Wesker cleared you for three days off-sick leave. But it’s up to you if you want to come in. If I were you, I’d take advantage and rest._ **

**_Call me if you need something._ **

This note finished with Chris’ number. You were surprised he had a cell; almost all of his calls-that sometimes were even personal, were directed to the station.

The rest of the morning was spent rushing with getting ready in your apartment, which felt even more like a trap; unsure if someone else would risk coming back to finish the previous night’s job. You made sure to clean Chris’ clothes and left them in his apartment with a note of your own. All you could write was _thank you_ , and you meant it. He proved himself more than capable of being reliable, but you hoped that was the only time you had to lean on him. You needed to prepare more. Hell…you needed to practice your fighting more.

Which brings you to now-waiting for Wesker to arrive. You occupy your mind with trying to reason with how you got away from death’s grasp once again.

Your father had tried to apply logic to it many years ago. Except he eventually used the ‘good lord’ as the reason for your new chance. It never sat right with you considering his inability to actually care about Catholicism, which had been the natural religion of choice in your surroundings growing up. Perhaps he was willing to open up to the idea of faith since being confronted with your testimony.

But it was terrible, because a part of you worried how similar your situation was to the undead. Anything from bullets to a physical strike to their skulls wasn’t always enough to put them down for good. What you learned, was the valuable necessity to keep moving. To never stay in any area for too long if survival remained priority over giving up the fight.

_I wasn’t bitten. I didn’t bring anything back with me._

You had tried to reassure yourself when you were splashing water on your face, the stream of blood trailing down the drain. It took a few minutes before the water ran clean. You didn’t think it would happen again; you genuinely thought that Chris was the last person you would ever see. You had accepted your awakening a bit too quickly, and you had to consider if there is a limit to this. You thought you were back stronger and at full force, but your body was telling you otherwise. Where is that line that you should be watching out for? And should certain conditions be met; would you find yourself permanently killed? Just like those walking corpses. Even if it took some effort, everything would die eventually, including you.

Finally, the figure of a tall gentleman without his signature glasses comes into view. He takes a seat across from you and you distract yourself with a couple of sips of your tea. The liquid is hot against your lips, but you welcome the sting now coating your mouth.

“You look good,” Wesker says, and you have to clear your throat so that the hot liquid doesn’t choke you. You highly doubt that what he said is true; your eyes are blood shot and you could feel that the lack of energy and the abundance of stress had done a number on your skin for the day.

“You’re late,” you say after another sip.

“Can’t just ditch my team for brunch on a whim.” Wesker picks up a menu and scans the options printed. The waiter comes to the table and welcomes the Captain while placing your plate of food down. The smell of freshly made pancakes surrounds you, and you have to fight an audible growl from your stomach. You happily dig in. And after his quick order of coffee and a small sandwich, Wesker leans in and begins his report.

“Your intruder isn’t linked with the Chief. You can rest assured that he took your threat rather seriously.”

“Anything else?” You start digging into the fried eggs; trying to continue the air of confidence.

“As far as info goes, no. No explanations for the pictures, or how he procured them. And very much unwilling to mention if he acted alone or hired.”

“Can I talk to him alone?”

“I’m afraid that is impossible.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he’s dead.”

You chug the rest of your tea, the liquid burning all the way down, but you are too upset to care. “How…?”

“ _Suicide_ , apparently.”

“He was in custody, though. How is that possible?” Your words are caught in your throat suddenly as you watch a playful smirk that he mostly hides with the sipping of his water. “…You killed him.” You look around for any lingering eyes, but the other patrons are thankfully lost to their private conversations.

“I believe the order you gave me was: ‘get rid of the son of a bitch trying to kill me.’ Am I wrong?”

You hate to admit it, but you remember wishing you could find a way to kill the man. Instead you watched his steady breathing through every minute of waiting with Chris. But that was in the moment. You wanted answers more than anything else. And now you had nothing. Not only that, Wesker proved himself genuinely dangerous.

“It would have been better had this not happened at all.”

“And I’ve already told you that he has nothing to do with the Chief. Do not mistake our agreement. I didn’t promise to protect you from anyone you might have made enemies out of. I only agreed to manage the Chief’s little childish outbursts.”

“Looks like you still did what I asked,” you say as you take another bite of your food.

“And you sure seem grateful. Especially when you run to another man after calling _me_ for help.” He visibly looks perturbed.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Captain. I expected you to be proud of him for handling the situation like the professional he is.”

“I think we’re past giving these little tales. You are not who you say you are, just as you’ve deduced that I’m not either. With you, I don’t have to feign admiration for someone I don’t like.” This revelation shocks you. This wasn’t common knowledge and you now wondered who else might be on Wesker’s secret list of _undesirables_.

“Seems rather odd. I don’t see how he earned himself a place on your blacklist.”

“That’s all I’m saying. One secret for another, Miss Reyes. How about you share something with me now?”

“Depends on what you’re curious about. I already have a couple of odd contracts with you. Why should I give up my secrets to you?”

“Why not work for more than just my minimal cooperation? Although my loyalty isn’t so easily earned. It could prove valuable to you in the future should you obtain such a prize.” 

“Like I said: depends on the question.”

“Who do you work for?”

“What?”

“Surely you have some sort of pull with a powerful group. You have your own stash of blackmail material that would never be easily obtained by just one person. Unless, you are secretly some skilled spy-”

“That would be a lot of credit to my name. All I’ll say is that it isn’t who I work for, but who works for me.”

“And this has something to do with your lack of a husband?”

You start to laugh heartily. The people around steal little glances your way, but they are just natural reactions and they quickly return to their own conversations.

You don’t spill the beans; you instead enjoy a couple more morsels of the soaked pancake and wave the waiter over for a refill. Wesker doesn’t push the matter. And soon his order comes by and you both sit in silence. It is odd, considering how you had never gone out in public with Wesker before. All activities were reserved for the bedroom.

You eventually break the peaceful quiet, and bring up the thing that currently occupies as your intention for the remainder of your time off.

“I’m leaving. Just for the approved time you gave me.”

“Care to elaborate on why you’re choosing to break our agreement?”

“You want to build trust? This is how you do it. I want to go home. I want to see my family. I’ll come back, and you won’t go trying to pull strings in the meantime; trying to manipulate your way to getting _them_ back here in the city.”

He keeps to his thoughts until he shifts your attention to something else. “And when you come back? Where will you be staying?”

“My apartment?” This is not the direction you expected the conversation to be going.

“Your compromised location, you mean. How about you stay with me?”

 _What the hell…_? “Are you feeling alright?” Your past didn’t even involve a freaking key to his place, and now he is entertaining living with you!?

“I’m very serious.”

“Why, so you can kill me in my sleep?”

“Now what gives you the idea that I want you dead?”

“It would mean one less thing for you to worry about. That’s for sure.”

“You may have gotten some hint to my nature, but I’m afraid to disappoint you. What I’m after is a little more delicate to obtain. I want to reveal every little secret about you. And I don’t mind tearing at those layers...slowly. I’ll eventually find what I want.” You watch as he stares at you as if starved. It’s taking every bit of willpower not to show him how nervous he actually makes you feel.

“I think I’ll manage just fine by myself. I’ll make sure of that from here on out.” _I’m in trouble._

“Fine. As for your little get away. When you get back, I won’t take it easy on you at work. If you’re even a minute late, expect some push back.”

“Good enough.”

* * *

You didn’t tell anyone you were coming back. You have no luggage, save for your essentials in your purse. And when you land, you immediately call Anita, the person you’ve been checking in with through most of your trip.

The drive continues past Stephanie’s home-which is rather regrettable-and you go straight for a mansion; your house. You spend most of the ride looking down at your hands or your legs. You eventually give some attention to the view through the window: The sky above is a rich azure that has delicate touches of soft white clouds. You want to appreciate the sight. You want to lose yourself in such a natural painting, but your mood has already darkened and dampened all that should be making your heart quake with excitement. Instead, you have to keep your emotions separate from the task at hand.

As the driver pulls up, large iron gates part and allow you entry to the massive estate. The driver circles around to the entrance and stops. You step out with pure confidence.

Not caring for the temperature, dutifully playing a part, you are dressed up in an all-black double-breasted jacket the hangs low past your knees. You have a snug grey dress right under it and your knee-high boots are back. And as the doors to your house open, everyone is waiting; equally dressed up in formal attire-ranging from suits to clean and simple cut dresses. It was all in preparation for the meeting that was about to take place. They greet you with a slight nod. No one says a word to you, reading your mood as you quickly march past marble, and paintings, all the way to your cellar. And before you make it to your destination, you select a few faces from the group and order them to follow you in.

One person rushes ahead of you, as if anxious to make sure that their presentation is to your liking. As she opens the door for you, you give her your usual look that should translate as: _you don’t have to_ , but she opens it anyway. Her dark curls flow behind her as she continues to rush ahead.

You eventually make it to the bottom. The room was cool and empty of the wine bottles that used to line the walls down here. You are instead greeted with the sight of people lining up those walls this time.

“Introduce me,” you say to Anita. Your voice is elegant and practically delighted-as if welcoming guests to a dinner party. Knowing the routine, Anita pulls out her folder and begins her introductions.

Down the line she lists off names of the men and women before you. You don’t actually care for the names. What you care about comes after their names: their occupations; their specific roles; the overwhelming amount of money in their bank accounts; the pictures of their transactions in action; that Umbrella logo pointing to four official members among the group of strangers; and more importantly, their involvement with the Orphanage. 

As Anita finishes off the list, you walk over to a table that was prepped for you. “There now. I think you should all have a clear understanding as to why you are here.” You start putting on some gloves. “Or is there some confusion? Should I have her repeat anything?”

No one says a word.

“I know we’ve just met. But if you have any concerns, please let me know. I’m always willing to hear ‘your side’ of the story.”

“Please, let us go,” one man starts begging.

“Oh no, my dear. I said I was willing to listen-that is all. I’m not planning on letting you go.” You look over to Anita and wave her off.

Anita collects her things and walks up the stairs, while two of your men stay in place.

You start picking up different tools-inspecting their sharpness and their shape. “Now then…I hope in your next life, you’ll rethink the choices you make.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a little more background in the next few chapters. So I apologize for the lack of your Chris and Wesker interactions.  
> Hope you're all doing great. Here's a reminder to drink some water, eat something, and let's all relax.  
> 

**A few weeks ago**

A ring stirred an unconscious man from the comfort of his deep sleep. He rolled over and turned on his lamp and proceeded to pick up the phone with great annoyance. But he fixed that tone that would otherwise get him in trouble.

“Boss?” He ran his large fingers through his disheveled red hair and tried to blink the grogginess away.

“No, David, it’s me.”

“Anita? What’s going on?”

“We have to push our schedule up. Just got off the phone with (Y/N), and looks like our friends are starting to move quicker than expected.”

“Quicker? But you said that no one has come by. What-”

“We have a description of the vehicles now. And they’ve been taking their picks from people off the streets. People no one would miss,” she said with a hint of sadness. “Something changed. Pretty soon, they’ll probably go and hit the orphanage.”

David struggled to express his immediate concern. If he were to keep it simple, it was just that he still couldn’t fully grasp how to take orders from you. Everything was done on a whim. And the one solid plan that had blossomed from years of collecting intel-all of that was suddenly going to get rushed. It was risky and he hated it.

“Alright. I’ll get packing.” He decided not to fight it anyways. He would tough it out for you.

“Oh-and bring Jun.”

“Nope,” David said a little too quickly.

“You want an earful from the boss, that’s on you.”

David made an audible groan and slammed his fist on his bedside table. “Fine. But you’re riding with him on the way back.”

* * *

“Get in.” A hooded figure jabbed their gun into the back of one of the workers. The person in question started to hop into the van with some difficulty. Some of them suffered from fresh wounds and were further confused as the darkness of night made it difficult to see.

David had the easier task and was already on the road ahead of them. Jun waited inside the van to finish off tying their newly acquired hostages. One by one they hopped on until there was one extra that wasn’t accounted for on their list.

“When did you start?” the masked figure asked as they didn’t waste time and dug into this person’s pockets for identification.

“Last week,” they answered with a quivering voice. When the hooded figure checked the I.D., they noticed the birthdate.

“Christ.” _Damn teenager._

“An- what’s the hold up?” Jun yelled from the inside as he worked a yell out of one of the hostages by tying one of the binds a little too tightly.

Anita had to bite back a harsher answer as he almost said her name out loud.

“I’m almost done! I’m closing up, don’t leave without me.” She closed the door with a loud clang and yanked the young girl away from the van.

“Volunteer?” Anita asked and they nodded. “Alright, this is all I have.” She pulled out her wallet and handed them a wad of cash. Two hundred bucks should be tempting enough for someone as young as this girl.

“I don’t-” They looked at the cash with confusion.

“I don’t have time to explain. You are not on my list, and that means you’re in the clear. Go home, and speak of this to no one. You were never here. You were at a friend’s, got it?” She waved the I.D. around and placed it into her own pocket. “This is mine. Insurance that you’ll do as I say. Now go.” Anita pushed the kid, who almost stumbled but straightened themselves out and made a run for it.

 _I hope that was enough._ She was already mentally kicking herself for giving all of her cash. It was part panic and part stupidity. She could have sworn she had all of the workers down to every detail and every change in shift.

This part should be the easiest. She took the wheel and did her best to drive off without speeding. Not wanting to gather any unwanted attention from the authorities or civilians.

Jun sat beside her, twirling a butterfly knife in his hands, and would take a peek at their other passengers. He smiled easily and that had made Anita a little unsettled. This was a person everyone in their group knew shouldn’t be messed with, but the thought that you even entertained letting him in the fold was a shock to everyone.

For the first fifteen minutes, everything seemed to go smoothly. Everyone was kept in check and Anita followed her route perfectly without any more delays. She hoped the same was true for David.

And then the flashing lights appeared.

Anita looked to her side mirror and noted that there was only one car. She started to slow down.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jun looked over to his mirror and then back at Anita with a warning playing on his lips.

“I’m pulling over.”

“No, you’re not,” he scolded as he opened his glove compartment for a gun.

“If I do, there is at least a chance that we can get out of this. Not stopping would leave with us no choice in the matter.”

“We are not talking our way out of _this_. You think these bastards are going to keep quiet?”

“ _You_ can keep them quiet. It’s literally why (Y/N) chose you.”

“Sweet talking me isn’t going to change my mind.”

“Well, I’m stopping no matter what. So, make your choice on how you want to handle this.”

Anita finally came to a full stop and pulled out her fake I.D. and registration. As Anita expected, Jun rushed out of his seat and moved to the back to keep everyone quiet. Anita glanced over her shoulder and made sure that their window overseeing the hostages was closed shut after Jun scrambled through the limited space.

She quickly pulled down her hood and mask in an attempt to appear as normal as possible. It was a nightmare to achieve considering how late it was. Still, she tightened her hold on the steering wheel and started to count down from ten; she would allow the fear to settle for only a moment before she would face this challenge.

The officer exited their vehicle at a leisurely pace. Once at the door, Anita rolled down the window, giving her best smile. The officer gave her a look over before going through his routine and Anita followed through without issue as she provided the proper documents. He quickly informed her that he caught her only yielding at a stop sign. _He must be bored._ Anita controlled the urge to roll her eyes and instead provided an apology and didn’t offer an excuse, hoping he saw that she was at least honest in that.

He seemed pleasant enough, and so Anita found herself much more relaxed. The other option would have been irreversible if she made the call to trust Jun with settling the matter. And him taking care of it wouldn’t sit well with you-at least not in this circumstance. You always needed a valid reason. Her heart sped with every little sound that came from the van. Thankfully, the officer hadn’t questioned anything yet, and proceeded to return to his vehicle to run her information in his system.

Anita looked over to the back and everything was quiet enough. Jun was usually incredibly effective with his threats, so she had to trust that everything was as well as it could be on his end. So far everything was showing to be a normal traffic stop.

That was until she saw a second set of flashing lights. She started to feel her hands turn clammy with sweat.

Another cop made their way to the first officer and soon they were caught up in conversation. One of them appeared to look over at her, and after a minute of discussion, the first officer retreated to their vehicle. Any confidence she thought she had went away with the first officer.

The new officer approached and Anita had to remind herself to relax. She unclenched her jaw and loosened her shoulders. A bright light suddenly assaulted her vision.

This guy wasn’t looking too friendly. He hunched down slightly to take a look with his flashlight, and it was then Anita noticed the badge her wore.

 _A S.T.A.R.S. member_.

When she looked him over, she had no doubt as to who this was; you already having ranted about them. Not only that, but it was Anita’s job to research everyone you were working with. And now she found herself with the Captain who was taking it upon himself to take over this traffic stop, which only gave her the largest red flag.

“I’m going to make this quick. Someone called in and reported a suspicious vehicle matching the description of this one here. I’m going to need you to open up the back for me.”

Anita was now regretting letting that girl go, but she considered the possibility that someone had signaled for help even before that. It wasn’t the smoothest executed operation.

“I thought I was being stopped for yielding at the sign back there.”

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

_Asshole. Guess I have no choice._

She stepped out with trepidation and slowly made her way to the back. He was walking only a few feet away from her, not giving her an opportunity to run-not that she would attempt such a poor type of escape. 

"Here you go," Anita said sweetly as she opened the door. Jun was happily waiting, his gun trained on the Captain. 

The Captain jumped out of the way as Jun fired. Anita used those precious seconds and darted back to the driver side. She hit the gas, ignoring the menacing look the Captain was giving her. Even as she left him behind, all he cared to do was to just stand there. She tried her best to make enough distance. She had intended to stay on her planned route, but now she needed to look for any places that could serve as a hiding spot.

It only took a couple of minutes for the flashing lights to appear again.

“Jun!” Upon hearing his name, the thin man slithered back into his seat and took a moment to fix his hair out of his face.

“Time for some fun,” he whistled as he noticed the flashes.

Anita took a sharp turn and swerved around a couple of late-night drivers.

“You can go faster than that, you know,” Jun snickered as he pulled out his gun.

“Try not to kill everyone.”

“Give me a little more credit here-Christ.” Jun replaced his mask and covered himself with his hood. He then quickly rolled down the window and started to fire at the Captain.

Anita couldn’t see where the bullets were hitting, but she could see the cop car swerve with ease. As she leaned to take a better look on her mirror, it shattered into pieces. Anita jolted back and exchanged a look with Jun. Jun was reloading, but now they were having to duck down as the Captain was firing back. Anita pressed on the gas and to Jun’s amusement, she started to take risks on the road.

“Wait till he finds out he killed one of them,” Jun laughed and Anita glanced over her shoulder. There was definitely blood splattered on that window.

And as the car rang with bullets coming to and from, the tied passengers took it upon themselves to call out through muffled cries, banging on the walls and doing everything they could to get attention. If Anita was able to get her and Jun out of this, those other poor fools never had a chance.

Jun banged on the window overseeing them and called out: “Keep it up. I already told you which piece of you I’m slicing off first,” which quiets most of them, save for a couple. Jun groaned and complained, but re-focused his sights on the car behind them.

Anita realized the lack of other cops. Surely, the Captain would have called for back-up?

The wheels in her head started to turn and she could only come to a simple conclusion: Most people who insisted on keeping a job to themselves, either have too much of an ego or simply have something to hide. As she took another sharp turn, it dawned on her that she failed to consider the possibility of Umbrella having their ties with more than one member of the R.P.D., and if so, she wasn’t sure how to break the news to her boss. It would fair much worse for you being surrounded by more than one enemy. No longer the suspect for drug dealing, you’d be a different type of target. And that would mean you wouldn’t have much longer to live. Anita refused to accept that. You would only be in danger if she and Jun got caught.

As she maneuvered her way around various cars and took chances with different routes, she failed to notice that the lights disappeared. Jun had urged her to keep up the speed as he scanned his surroundings.

A harsh crash sent them sideways and they spun out of control. Her vision blackened for a second before the eruption of pain on her head had her gasping. Luckily, she was experienced enough to brush it off and concentrate. Anita allowed the wheels to turn uncontrolled until she felt the vehicle straighten out, and then she gripped tightly to their lifeline and positioned it out enough and hit the brakes.

If there was any doubt before, there should be more cops coming soon. Surely there would be witnesses to the crash. Anita felt that her vision clouded over again; she touched her eye carefully and wiped away fresh blood. She finally felt the sting of the cut on her forehead. She looked over to Jun who was unaffected by the crash and instead had prepped his weapon and exited the vehicle.

Anita was about to protest. He was rushing. Anita was a little more careful in her movements, and scanned the area to assess what she'd be working with. The damage to the van was surprisingly minimal but when she looked over to the person who ran into them it became clear that it wasn’t some random driver, but the Captain who flanked them.

Jun dropped in an instant.

Anita watched all of her hard work collapse; a surge of anger rose up, and she had to force it back so that she could focus. She trained them all to be on the same level as her. But when you're in the thick of it, some people lose their nerve. Others let their blood lust take over. But not Anita.

Unsure if Jun was alive or not, Anita inched closer to his side and fired a warning shot before taking cover. Meanwhile, the people they’ve secured in the van were absolutely hysterical, their wailing echoing around them.

The Captain finally appeared from cover and returned fire. Her shots should've landed, but she wasn't facing some amateur. But as their ammo was quickly running out, one of them would need to make the next move.

The Captain eventually forced his way to her and now they were exchanging blows. Anita blocked and dodged each of his overbearing strikes, but that didn't mean he was slow. She was barely moving out of the way. She made use of her legs to create some distance, but he almost caught her mid kick and went in to attempt a takedown. She maneuvered into a sprawl, sliding her legs back. The distance created allowed her arms to circle around his neck. Unfortunately, he was prepared for the choke; he pushed her away and slipped out of her grasp. Anita was hoping to end this on a more permanent note, when a string of shots shocked her into place. 

The Captain’s limp body collapsed at her feet. Thanks to Jun, Anita wasted no time getting into the vehicle. Jun was already securing himself back in and wincing in pain. Just as the S.T.A.R.S team were prepared with their gear, Anita and Jun had their own vests to protect them.

Anita found her route once again and made it to their temporary hideout.

* * *

No news other than the sudden change in location for the children. Nothing to indicate there were suspects who barely escaped the clutches of the reputable S.T.A.R.S. Captain. More notable was a lack of an obituary with the Captain’s face on it. Everything was too normal, and it made Anita’s skin crawl. They were keeping their secrets, even if it meant that they lost some of their own.

David made the call to you, and you quickly gave your approval to proceed as normal. It was time to dig for more information, and this time they had live subjects to take them from. Anything of value that they could use for their own ploys.

There also weren’t any panicked calls from you. You showed no hint to having any knowledge of the Captain’s involvement. And Anita kept her mouth shut too. She needed more proof. She also didn’t want to send you on some revenge quest where you would spill blood without first thinking of the consequences. Because a Captain threatening your team’s life would certainly be enough of a reason for you to do something about it. There was too much on the line. 

_How many in the R.P.D. work for Umbrella? Maybe I’m overthinking this._

“It’s time to get to work.” David interrupted Anita’s meditation. He slipped on some disposable gloves before leading her down to the cellar.


	14. Chapter 14

Your hand slips through the silky water, but as you do, the blood pools in your palm and you suppress a need to gag. You sit up and are about to leave when you notice that the water was only a pink shade from the perfumed products Anita had prepped for you.

You sit back down and let everything coat you. You squeeze your lids tight and try not to think of the blood. When you finish, David is waiting for you in the bedroom-laying out some clean clothes for you to slip into.

“Is everyone waiting?” you ask as you look at the ensemble he picked out for you. David nods as he scans you. You can read it on his face: He never liked seeing you dirty your hands. But it was always encouraged- engrained into you, until the day you didn’t have to anymore. It was now always left up to people like David.

“They are very eager to see you.” You needed to see them. It was time to discuss the next step.

Once dressed, you head down stairs with David delicately keeping your arm tucked under his. When everyone spots you, they all stand and greet you with a simple nod and small smiles. As you sit down, they follow your movements.

You continue with the meeting and listen as everyone goes over what they’ve learned about Umbrella. What is shocking for them is not anything new for you. And the reports aren’t too detailed. There are details of strange mutations, but Umbrella keeps a tight lid on their experiments, so even the few workers your team secured weren’t sponges of information. Still, experiments that included children are always horrifying to hear about. And the revelation of the amount of bodies being disposed of is just as concerning. They are burning through too many people all too quickly.

After your escape from the incident in Raccoon City, there had only been rumors as to what exactly Umbrella was involved in. What you had recalled was their decline and the pressure they had experienced as the government started putting a tighter leash on the company. But you saw enough. You knew enough. Now your team isn’t second guessing your accusations. You always kept them to a minimum to begin with, but it was a seed of doubt you worked a long time to be able to harvest.

It’s more proof added to the connections that Chief Irons had. And now you can start releasing this info and put Umbrella in what you could graciously call _deep shit_. And hopefully it will stop them from releasing their experiments into the world.

 _We can do this_.

Once the meeting ends, you move to the back of the mansion and look out to the renovated building and clasp your hands together. The nerves come and go and you hesitate. A thin figure moves in next to you and lights a cigarette.

“You gonna check?”

“I should,” you say as you look Jun over. You both stand and watch on as the sun lowers.

“It’s good to have you back,” he slaps a hand on your back before leaving to where you assume to be the kitchen; as you remember constantly finding him there when you were living here regularly.

As you make your way through the garden, soft footsteps find their way to you. You look over at Anita who gives you a wary smile.

“Something on your mind?” You guess and she tenses.

“You trust me?”

“Yes?” You didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but it genuinely caught you off guard. Anita swallows before exposing her thoughts to you.

“I may have left something out in my report.” You are nearing the entrance of the renovated building- _a guest house_ -you have to remind yourself. You take a seat at the steps and Anita joins you. “We actually did have some t-trouble.”

You quirk an eyebrow at her but you don’t speak.

“Someone got the word out. It may have been a kid I let go…” Your eyebrows go up and you just hope Anita isn’t about to suggest to go looking for this kid to tie up loose ends.

“But you obviously got out of it.” You place a hand on her shoulder for a moment to give her a little courage.

“Yeah but because of that, we ran into bigger trouble. And I think it’s very likely your boss is caught up in all of this mess.” Your heart sinks. “He almost caught us. And all this time, I just can’t help shake the feeling that he was sent by Umbrella-to clean up this mess.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask because at this point it’s a dirty habit. Finding ways to go around the obvious. Finding ways to excuse the man who seems forever tied to you.

“Well, he didn’t have any backup. And our little mission didn’t make the papers. He did it all on his own, and he didn’t report to anyone. Isn’t that strange? His record is clean of course. But-I don’t know Boss, maybe it’s time for you to stay here instead.”

“Well now that you told me that, you really think I’m going to turn tail and not catch this son of a bitch?” You give her a smile and turn to the doors behind you.

“You’re not mad?” Her confusion makes sense. It was a puzzle piece that was looking to find a place in your story you’ve been trying to hold together through all of these years. And the truly shocking thing is that you didn’t feel that deep in your gut hatred. You didn’t loathe him. You saved that for Irons, but why didn’t you have any to spare for Wesker?

_You still care for him, you stupid silly girl. You never stopped. You always looked over the obvious danger he presented._

You grieved for him, and then he came back to take you with him. Maybe the first life was just a dream. This was too much.

_He died, and then he came back. He died…Maybe he never did? Or was he like you?_

A hand is waving in front of your face. You peer at the woman before you, her curls covering her face as a breeze picks up.

“I’m not mad.” You hesitate as you put your hand on the door handle. “I think it’s time all of you move to the city. Someone is already after me and I don’t know what’s going to happen but I’ll need you all.”

“Boss...”

“Got my ass kicked. Looks like I need to brush up on my skills.”

“After everything you’ve been through,” Anita groans as she whips her hair out of her face “You know I’m not going to go easy on you.”

”I’m not expecting you to.” 

Anita guides you to the side so that she can be the first one to lead you through that door.

“Well now that that is settled, what are we doing about the Captain?”

“Leave that to me.”

She understands that tone well enough. She doesn’t press for any more discussion and instead opens the doors to this house.

When you enter, all is quiet.

She gives a tour and everything is in order. There are a lot of rich colors on the walls and the décor is kept to a minimum. Nothing too crazy, and nothing too dangerous to have around the guests. As you are entering a kitchen, a woman in a white t-shirt and jeans springs into action, and without warning a little body comes sprawling in between your legs and makes for an escape to the living room.

“Sorry!” The woman barrels through and dodges you both.

“I ugh-she’s new.” Anita guides you to the next area that is set up like a classroom.

 _There they are_.

The rest of them. No more than ten kids huddled around and enjoying some reading time, while a young man in glasses humors one child’s show and tell as they hold up the drawing they just finished working on.

“So…how did we do?” Anita already knows the answer.

You cave in and hug her.


	15. Chapter 15

_He respected you, you know._

It takes you a moment to realize he is speaking. David has to repeat himself as you set flowers onto a grave, and when they are positioned to your liking, you acknowledge him with a smile. You wipe some dirt away and do your best to clean up the head stone.

“Any clue as to what he would tell us now?” you ask as you wipe the dirt onto your pants. David hunches down and places his own flowers.

“He’d probably say to stop wasting time on a dead man.” The old man never showed how fragile he felt. But the inner circle had to see it one day. It was the day he died. Even if he was the poster child for a grumpy old man who hated the thought of anyone seeing anything other than strength, he at least cared. He wasn’t cruel. Even if the training was.

Anita never went easy on you. And before you have to return to Raccoon City, you had already planned some training to cram in and get her to yell at you; to point out those flaws that you allowed to creep back in from your life of comfort. That training that this old man demanded of you.

 _Sorry for slacking._ You collect the dried-up flowers from someone’s previous visit.

David starts setting up with a blanket, cooler, and a basket for the little picnic you two planned. You both get some curious glances from other visitors, but other than that, you two sit and enjoy your food.

“And now,” David smiles as he gently unravels a bottle of wine. He then holds out a little photograph of a young woman and places it by the stone.

You spot the label and confirm that David got the old man’s favorite. You both enjoy a small amount as it is on the dryer side. And you immerse yourselves in some silence as a wave of warm air hits you both. David grabs an unopened soda can and presses the cool aluminum against his neck, as he wipes some sweat from his forehead. Meanwhile, the clouds are keeping some shade on you, so you gratefully lean back on your elbows and close your eyes. 

“So, do we have a facility we can storm and put an end to all of this?” David chuckles as he takes another sip of wine.

“Do we have an army I don’t know about?” You pour yourself some more as the sudden buzz was getting you more invested in the drink.

“What, our hastily put together, amateur vigilante force isn’t good enough?”

“ _Hastily_?” This is years in the making! You throw a little pebble at him and he just lets it hit him.

“More like the mafia,” he accuses and you don’t find it in yourself to deny it. No way would any of you stay out of jail if Wesker were to dig up the actual info he’d been quite obsessed with obtaining -if _anyone_ were to investigate you. _We are not criminals._ You had defended yourself when Wesker had you in a corner, and you are just so shocked at how easy it was to lie. With the only truth being that your father and brother are truly not aware of your work. And the only comforting thought that remains is that if you are ever caught, your imprisonment wouldn’t be in Raccoon City. At least there wouldn’t be any monsters here.

“Have a drink with your dad.” David places his filled glass by the photo before laying down, and you in turn leave yours by it as well. The old man’s daughter sits frowning for the photograph, as she apparently always hated getting her picture taken.

You shuffle over and lay down next to David.

“Have you talked to Michael?” David asks and you can’t help the frown that replaces your genuine glee.

“No, he’s scared of me.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I scolded him. He would’ve gotten worse had it been anyone else.”

“Has Jun talked to him?” you ask and David shakes his head. 

“Well, not that I’m aware of.” He hums softly as he continues to keep his eyes on the sky above.

“I can’t believe none of us knew.” His voice grows quiet as he thinks about Michael. _Yeah, I feel like I dropped the ball._

“It’s my fault. None of you should have to be worrying over this. I should've noticed. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I never bothered with all of this to begin with.”

”I’m not going to lie, but I think we’d all be living in blissful ignorance,” David says as he plucks a piece of lint from his shirt.

It pains you to hear it but it’s the truth. And David isn’t tearing into you, but you know deep down a lot of them would probably have achieved normal lifestyles by now if it weren’t for you or the old man.

“Yeah-yeah,” you turn to your side so that you could get a better look at him and that picture against the stone. “Still think it’s weird that not even Jun has reached out. Michael could use the company,” you say as you reach over for a piece of food. David gives you a bit of a snarky look as he notices your eagerness to change the subject. 

“I don’t know why you approve of them,” David steals your piece of bread and begrudgingly eats it.

”I’m not one to judge.” 

“Well _I am._ How is it that both Reyes siblings are constantly making excuses for him?”

”He's had my back and you know that. And Michael is smitten-I can’t judge.” You emphasize the last part as you let Wesker slip into your thoughts again. 

When you finish with the afternoon picnic, you both walk back to David’s car, but before you do, you spot the area you’ve been avoiding.

Never wanting to step foot anywhere near that distant grave that represented your deal with the old man, your late husband Jonathan. A deal that required you to kill for the very first time.

* * *

He’s hugging you a little too tightly, so you squeeze tighter and force a painful laugh out of your dad.

”So is it done? They let you go?” His eyes are practically sparkling with excitement and you just hate yourself for having to shut that down. 

“I’m actually going back tomorrow.” You conveniently leave out the part where you had a reset after your deadly run in with the stranger. Your fingers are ghosting over your pocket where the pictures your attacker had are tucked in. You see the light leave him and he crosses his arms. 

“Well I’m not letting you leave.” Your father makes it a point to lock the door behind you and you roll your eyes. 

“Is Michael here?” You look up to the second floor but your father is already shaking his head.

”He’s back at the dorms. Can you believe it? It’s going to snow.” It’s definitely good news but you’re still worried about his mental health. And you wanted to apologize. 

“But how is he really?” 

“He’s been on eggshells for a while now. But last time I spoke to him he sounded like himself again. He’s apparently got some of his grades made up and is on track to catch up in his other classes. I did ask him if he still even wanted to go, but he said he needed something to distract himself with.” 

“I don’t blame him.” 

Your dad just nods and points to the kitchen. ”Want some coffee?” You accept and follow him in.

So the both of you catch up, and while all of his stories are work centered, he keeps the subject mainly on you and doesn’t miss a bit of detail you relinquish; constantly drilling you about the people you work with. He understandably interrogates you on whether there have been any sightings of the undead. Hearing him say that is a little odd. It still felt very much part of some movie, or a book you had to read; very much not a reality you lived through. 

As the coffee slowly disappears through the hour of conversation, you eventually brave through the fear and take out the pictures. 

“What’s this?” Your dad takes the first one and smiles fondly at it. “For me?” As if he didn’t already keep a couple of overly stuffed photo albums of you and Michael. 

But when he sees the second picture of you in those braids and intricate frills, he almost crushes it. 

“Where did you get this?” That soft demeanor is gone now and a stoic stranger takes over. 

“I take it there's something you haven't told me, dad.” Your voice is strained as you can barely get through that stare he is giving you. You can tell when there are secrets to dig out of someone, and your dad is giving you a look of warning; he didn’t want you searching.

”I’m not saying anything until you tell me _where_ you got this.”

You sigh. You look your father in the eyes and he isn’t giving you any hint of kindness now. You’re scared. 

“Someone broke into my apartment. They had these on them.”

”Someone broke...And when were you going to tell me about this? Did they hurt you?”

_Yes._

”No, I wasn’t hurt.” 

“Did you find out who it was? What did they look like?”

His words come out in a desperate plea. And you see his walls coming down again and that by itself relaxes you a little. You don’t want that ice hearted stranger he turned into to come back. So you tell him everything as far as the reset is concerned. About how you shielded yourself behind Chris instead of getting caught off guard and shot at.

”He doesn’t sound familiar.” 

_Familiar? Who exactly is he considering in the first place?_

”So who would you have expected?” You take the picture out of his hand to get him to focus on you. “You said you’d tell me,” you reiterate. 

He bites down on his lip as if trying to keep from speaking. He then moves his attention elsewhere. 

“Dad?” You call out to him as he stands up and practically runs to the front door. You yell for him again but he ignores you as he leaves the house. Once outside, he slows his steps, scanning his surroundings. Before you can even catch up he stops you.

”Stay in the house, (Y/N).”

He continues his walk to the mailbox, taking a few seconds longer than usual to inspect the inside, and returns empty handed. And before he returns to you, he circles your car, his hands lightly checking different spots until he is sweeping his fingers under the vehicle. 

He’s not empty handed this time. You can’t tell what the object is, but he is closing his fingers around it. When he turns to face you, he drops it at his feet and stomps it to pieces. The shattered bits fly at different directions, and you are tempted to crouch down to pick up a piece to inspect. 

Your father interrupts that notion as he brings up an index finger to his lips to encourage your silence, which you don’t need help with as you're already quite simply put: freaked the fuck out. 

He turns around and you watch him head straight to a specific direction across the street. There is a sound of an ignition starting. You can’t stand by anymore, you run after your father who is already catching up to a moving vehicle. 

In one incredible strike, your father crashes through the window of the car, his fist reaching in and pulling someone by the collar. There is a sound of choking and cursing all mixed into one that gets louder with your approach. You are ready to join your father in the violence when you see this poor man’s beet red face. 

“Chris!?” 


	16. Chapter 16

“He’s a cop!”

“Stop, he’s a cop!”

_Oh god, that’s assault…_

You’re repeating yourself and your dad clearly doesn’t care. You are gripping his arm, trying to pry his fingers off of Chris’ neck. And when you and Chris fumble around and break free, your dad pushes him against the car. From the way Chris is closing his fists and the way he keeps trying to create distance, you know he is doing his best to hold back. You count the smallest of blessings where you thank all that is good in the world for not allowing them to succumb to a full-on brawl. Figuring out who is the strongest is something you’d prefer to leave as a mystery. Chris is at least showing some restraint, while your father is on the verge of murder with the way his eyes have darkened; his fists closed so tight that you can still see the whites of his knuckles through the blood.

“He’s a friend!” You finally get in between them, your hands out attempting to shield Chris. As expected, your father doesn’t lift a finger with you right in front of him.

“A friend?” The color in his face suddenly returns to normal and he looks at you with a bit of skepticism. When you look over your shoulder at Chris, _he’s_ even looking at you like you told an outright lie to the both of them.

_Ah…can’t really blame him there._

“Yes. Well, he is my coworker.”

“What kind of a coworker is sitting outside _spying_ on us?” Your father practically spits at Chris, and you find yourself flinching.

“That-” a nervous laugh comes out of you, “-is a very good question!” You look back at Chris who is currently rubbing the ache in his neck. It’s coated in blood.

When you look down at yourself, and then at your father, you notice that all of you are stained with a rich red, like spilt wine; you immediately look at your father’s hand and take in how bad those open wounds are. You’re shaking your head as you accept the fact that this insane man punched through a god damn window.

“ _Hijo de tu_ …” Your dad starts cursing and complaining in Spanish, with every intention of leaving Chris out of this conversation. As you scan Chris, you try to look for little hints of him actually knowing the language.

He was never one to force his mother-tongue on his adoptive children, although he spoke enough through the years for you to understand. He is asking you to clarify what is going on; he is trying to warn you that you shouldn’t trust them-that you shouldn’t trust anyone. Over and over he insists that you need to stay with him here so that he can keep you safe. Your Spanish is a bit rusty, so you just answer in English; encouraging him to calm down and to go back inside so that he can treat his wounds.

You look back at Chris and gesture for him to follow you inside. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” You don’t bother waiting for him to protest.

“No, leave him out there!” your father insists, but you try to-as politely as possible-tell him to calm down.

Once inside, you guide Chris to the kitchen, but you prioritize finding the first aid kit for your father. Meanwhile, Chris has to endure the intense stare that your father is giving him. Both are sitting across from each other, and no one is saying a word.

When you come back, you throw a damp towel towards Chris, who catches it and starts wiping the blood off. You turn to your father and give him the first aid box. He doesn’t wait for you to help him, he takes care of it himself. He instead encourages you to sit down. It is then that you notice your father is giving a hint of an apology with the way he looks at you; his eyes are softer now. He reaches up and pinches your cheek.

“So, you going to explain why you were running?” In an instant, your father shoots first and you glance at Chris. Chris is still cleaning himself up, but he doesn’t show any signs of being nervous.

“I’m guessing your daughter hasn’t explained to you about our investigation.”

“You can’t really believe that we are going to buy that ridiculous story. Not a single thing that your department has done, makes any sense! She saves her brother, and you pressure her-no-you _force_ her to work for you.” Chris looks perplexed. Wesker didn’t tell him about you getting hired, and it seems you’ve gained confirmation that Chris didn’t know about the bizarre deal even after learning that you work at R.P.D.; now you’re just as baffled. You're no longer sure how careful or honest you should be around him, considering his boss doesn’t care to keep him in the loop completely.

“And it was all for what? Some ridiculous notion that my son had some rare information. You are up to something and I’m not buying a single thing you pigs are selling. And then, to top it all off, my daughter has some sort of stalker…They got pictures of her! Unless you’re actually here to protect her from whoever intends to kidnap-or harm her, I don’t want to hear any bullshit made up story about drugs.”

Your jaw is practically hitting the ground. Somehow your father condensed your concerns into this one rant. It was definitely not looking good for Chris to use that excuse, considering the fact that your deal with Wesker meant that there shouldn’t even be any more ‘investigation’ going on. That was the whole reason for you to play along and stay on as an employee.

As your father is catching his breath, you feel yourself beaming with pride.

“Yeah, I think you should just come out with it, Chris. What’s really going on?” Chris leans back in his chair and carefully places the towel on the table. “You’re also working far away from home. Surely, you guys don’t have that kind of power, right?” You scoot a little closer, and his eyes grow just a little wider at that statement.

“Well as _I was trying to say_ -after everything you and your brother went through, we’ve obviously been keeping an eye on you.” He stops to redirect his explanation to your father. “Although we had our suspicions over your family, we didn’t expect someone to actively target (Y/N). So to answer your question, sir: yes, I am in fact here to protect your daughter.”

You feel a flush of heat on your cheeks. Your heart starts hammering away, and you just can’t shake that feeling like someone had just confessed something to you. He was so self-assured, and bold about it.

“Hmph,” your father scratches at his chin, “Did you put that tracking device on her car?”

“I did.”

“So, I’m to believe you are protecting my daughter out of the kindness of your heart, but you don’t approach her about it; you put a tracking device on her and what-you just sit back and watch?”

“Your daughter and I…have a complicated relationship.”

Your eyes feel like that are going to pop out of your sockets. Your dad turns to you and gives you that look like he is about to discipline you for sneaking a guy into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

“What he _means_ to say is that I may have…recently gotten arrested for physically assaulting him-”

“We got into an altercation and your daughter defended herself-”

“What the hell are you talking about? What did you do to her!?” Your father’s fists are clenched and ready. You jump at Chris’ defense.

“ _No, no, no_! We got into a verbal argument, that turned physical. I mean…I’m the one who hit him. And then I got arrested and-”

“You punched him?”

“He was being an ass!”

“Seriously?” Chris cuts in.

“Stop. Both of you.” Your dad rubs his eyes in frustration.

“As I was saying, we have a history of not getting along.” _I’ll say!_ “I was being discreet, because I had a feeling (Y/N) might not have let me come along if I approached her about this.”

“Well I do this for a living, and communication is key. If she needed help, and she didn’t even know you were around, how would she reach out to you? What if someone snatches her out of sight? How long before you realize something is wrong? How much time slips by before you even have the opportunity to catch up. Every second counts, and you could waste it all because you are too scared to tell her you would look out for her.”

“Chris…” He looks over at you and he doesn’t expect your soft gaze. You give him a little squeeze on the arm for just a few seconds before letting go. “You think you can wait for me outside? I have something I want to talk about with my father. If you’re really here for this specific reason, then I’ll cooperate. But I want to talk to him in private.” Chris hesitates for a moment, but eventually gets up and leaves the house.

The sound of a door closing allows you to release the breath that you had been holding in. Your dad secures some gauze around his knuckles before looking at you.

“Do you believe him?” he speaks just as you were about to.

“I don’t know. He works directly under the man who put me in this situation to begin with. I have my doubts. But I’ll figure everything out, dad. But don’t think you’re getting away from giving me some answers just ‘cause Chris showed up.”

He keeps looking down at the aged picture. But something in his manner changes, and it transitions into one of pure affection. He’s remembering something. You hate that you can’t join him in that memory.

“I’ve got to throw them off of your trail.” His soft features turn rough, and you can see the distinct lines of his wrinkles.

 _Them_. A group of some sort and your dad still won’t give you any details.

“But we’ve shared enough. I’ve got to do a sweep of the house and outside. I’m sorry but I don’t trust that this _friend_ of yours hasn’t already bugged the place.” After witnessing him pull that tracking device from your car, you don’t have a reason to argue.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” he asks.

“It’s in the afternoon. I can stop by in the morning.”

“No can do. I also have to make arrangements for a flight. How about this: Let me figure out what’s going on. I need to talk to some people and see what exactly changed-I need to know how they found you. When I come back, we can talk about it. Whether it’s over the phone or in person. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes,” you answer gently. You also want to figure out your own mess. You are willing to give your father a chance.

“Thank you,” he says graciously as he goes in for a hug.

“Dad, you know I’m still on your side.”

“I know, little one. And I’m always on yours.” That by itself was enough. You feel your energy return to you.

As you leave the house, Chris is sitting at the small steps in front of the door, lost in thought. “What’s that?” he asks as he points to a bag you’re holding.

“Food.” Bread, cheese, and sweets to be exact. You can’t think of a time when you didn’t leave your dad’s house without him giving you a little something to take home. Even in the midst of all of the insanity, he doesn’t forget to make it all feel just a little bit normal.

“Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere,” he answers as if that is a perfectly reasonable response. He is following you to your car now.

“Alright then, good luck.” You get in your car and turn on the ignition. Chris is already tapping at the driver side window trying to get your attention.

You turn away from him to hide the laughter threatening to leave as he complains away; confused as to why you are just leaving, and begging you to end the little game. But you are backing up from the driveway. His lean and muscular figure is getting left behind, as you show zero hint of stopping. You can barely hear the ‘ _come on!_ ’ as you continue to ignore him.

You finally stop after you pass a couple of houses. Chris catches up with ease, and is now tapping on the passenger window.

You give in and roll down the window. “Can I help you?”

“Cut the crap. I thought we were going to talk!”

“I’ve got to make you work for it.”

“Really? How old are you?” And the question seems a bit weird in hindsight. Would you actually be considered mentally older than you are now? If that is true, then this makes the situation worse: you are acting like a complete child, but you couldn’t ignore that you were having fun. _I’m, a terrible person._

You reach over and unlock the door for him. “Shall I drive you back to your rental?”

“When are we going to talk?” He takes a seat and looks around at the high-quality interior.

You sigh. “Jesus Christ, I just wanted to get away and have a little mini vacation. But you had to follow.”

“Well, you said you’d cooperate.” He reclines his seat and closes his eyes. You smack at his legs, but he doesn’t give in. Instead, he smiles at you and brings his hands behind his head-his arms a little more in focus as the muscles and veins are accentuated and quite honestly-distracting.

You clear your throat. “Anyways, we can talk when we get back. I’m not having you take up any more of my free time.” You drive into a neighbor’s driveway, and back out to turn around. Once you are by Chris’ rental car, you shoo him away.

Chris repositions himself and looks to the broken window. “My god, why didn’t anyone warn me about him?”

“What’s there to warn about? You were the one creeping on us.”

“Still would’ve appreciated the heads up. Now I know where you got those hulk hands from.”

“Ha. Ha. Alright so send me the bill. And we’ll call it even.”

“And where are you off to?”

“My house. Don’t worry, I’ll be back at work the day after, so no need to follow me around like a cute puppy.” The word cute had slipped out, but you kept your cool, as if it wasn’t a big deal. But the look on Chris’ face was anything other than casual. He looks almost mortified, but it turns into a puzzled expression. 

“Cute?”

“Yeah, like a lost puppy. All alwone and scwared.” You mock him.

“Okay, no. Please, stop.” With the recovery, you wait on him this time.

He continues to provide surprises for the day with his next question, “Know any decent hotels?”

“Why on Earth, would you book a trip, and not plan for a place to stay?” He is suddenly extremely quiet.

“Hello?” You jab a finger into his arm.

“Well, you see-” he runs his fingers through his hair “-I’m actually not supposed to be here.”

“You followed me, without anyone knowing. How is that going to work for you?” _This man is ridiculous._

“I prefer to ask for forgiveness later, rather than wait for permission.” He smirks.

“Alright bud, you’re really on your own then. Goodbye.”

“Come on. Are you really not going to say anything? I told you why I’m here.”

“I’ll have you know that my dad and I aren’t convinced. You can hold off on acting like my knight in shining armor.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to believe me.” You give him a glare.

“For real though-where are you staying?”

“I don’t have anything booked, I told you that.”

Without considering the consequences, you drive off. Chris gives you a look of panic, as his rental gets further and further left behind. Now a distant piece of metal that disappears as soon as you make a turn.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going home. And you can stay, but you need to figure out your flight back. You pay for your taxi and deal with the rental.”

“I thought you were going to help with the damage.”

“I change my mind!” You didn’t actually mean that last part, but you will always take those little jabs at him when you can.

He doesn’t argue. You tear through the silence and punch the buttons of your radio until some 80’s music comes through. You leave it and turn up the volume. Chris gives you a look and before you can question it-before you can dare him to question your taste in music, he turns away.

The drive is long and the traffic is backed up-as usual. But as your commute progresses, you pick up on how Chris hums away at the music. You can’t help but feel a little bit excited. Finding people with similar tastes was always something to celebrate.

“You hungry?” you ask as you feel your own stomach beginning to act up.

”I could eat.”

As you come to a stop in traffic, you reach for your purse and pull out your phone.

“Hey, can you do me a favor? I’ve got a friend of mine coming over. Think you can order something?”

”Boss, who the hell are you bringing over?” Jun was the one to answer, and you were not surprised at his annoyed response. 

“You don’t need to know about all of my relationships! Now can you please coordinate with everyone and figure out some dinner!” 

“Boss, you’re the one who told us to not trust anyone! You’re confusing me! Are you in trouble? Where do you want me to meet you? How many of them are there?”

”There is only one and I’m heading home and he is a guest! Stop being paranoid! Do you want to eat or not!?”

”...I’ll go ask everyone what they want.”

”Thank you. Bye.” 

“What was that all about?” Chris rolls down the window for some fresh air. You turn down the music so you can hear him better.

”My roommates. They are a little protective since hearing about my run in with that guy.”

”You don’t live alone?”

”Nope. Some of them are family through my marriage, and the rest are friends.”

”Interesting.”

”Yeah? How so?”

”Just figured you for someone who’d rather keep to themselves.” 

“I mean, I like to recharge on my own. Doesn’t mean I can’t handle people.”

Chris doesn’t continue the conversation. He instead lets the air flow through his hair. Before you know it, he is sound asleep. Definitely looking the calmest you’ve ever seen him.

When you make it home, he doesn’t wake until you are gently shaking his shoulder. As he blinks away the sleep, he looks up at you and in a panic he sits up to search his surroundings. 

“Hey, we’re here.” 

He follows you in, giving an impressed whistle as he looks at the giant home. When you enter, your main three are at attention, like your own private security when they should be playing their roles as roommates. You give them your best ‘don’t fuck it up’ look, and in doing so you notice how Anita has a moment of panic. Of course she’d recognize Chris as one of your coworkers. 

But you try to break the tension by introducing everyone. And Chris with all politeness, greets them with a handshake. 

The next person to make an appearance makes you stutter out a response.

”Michael? When did you get here?” 

“Hey, sis. I was just leaving,” he awkwardly moves towards you. You glance over at Jun who was obviously hiding a blush. 

“Well, I hope you had a good time.” You don’t even have to look to know that Jun would be giving you a death stare. 

“Come here.” You can’t help yourself, you reach out and bring him into a hug. He reciprocates with a bit of urgency, and he whispers an apology to you.

”No, I’m sorry. But we can talk about that later. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

”I actually have to study. It’s why I’m heading out kinda early.” He looks you over and finally notices Chris. Instead of commenting he gives you another hug and bids you farewell, with the promise of a phone call later.

The group had kept it simple and ordered Chinese takeout. When the food arrived, everyone shuffled to their rooms like hermits, leaving you to some privacy with Chris in the kitchen.

As you fill your bellies, Chris takes the opportunity to learn more: He asks about your family, and your late husband. You keep the answers simple and claim that what you had with Jonathan was love. He eyes you with suspicion as expected. There’s not much you can say to avoid looking like a gold digger. But when he asks you about your current situation, things take a bit of a turn. 

“Why didn’t you say anything about being forced to work for us? With your temper, I’m surprised you actually stayed on.”

Chris takes a generous drink of his beer as he waits for your answer. 

“I’d be willing to do anything if it keeps my family safe.”

”Safe? Was he threatening to kill your family or something?” He is attempting a joke but you now sit and think over the possibility of Wesker getting angry enough to do just that.

”Your boss made it look pretty serious how deep in shit my brother was. And he wasn’t afraid to continue to push those suspicions on me and my dad. I wasn’t willing to risk letting my brother stay in Raccoon City.”

”He really forced you?”

”Well it certainly felt like my options were limited. But then he started to threaten Emily’s job so then I had to step in and come to some sort of compromise to try and stop that as well.”

”What?”

”Emily didn’t tell you?”

”She talks a lot but she’s not one to gossip.”

”Oh.” You look down at your hands and begin to fidget. “Well me sneaking in successfully almost got her fired. He was ready to replace her with me, so I agreed only if he held off on punishing her. Besides, I’m more curious as to what exactly he told you.”

”He insisted we needed another secretary. Really didn't care about what I had to say. And he kept saying you were more than qualified. All compliments; so that’s why I was shocked to hear what your dad said.”

”Well, now you know he has no issue keeping secrets from you.” You hope he’ll start being more careful around Wesker. 

“I don’t even know what to say. I mean the Chief doesn’t really like me, but I’m okay with helping you report Wesker.”

You felt your limbs tremble for a moment. You are taken back in time for a moment and recall how everyone seemed to put their job first before considering how messed up your situation was. And here Chris was, offering to just do the right thing. It was a strange feeling. 

However, you feel your stomach turn at the thought.You didn’t want Wesker getting any sort of hint that you would be actively using your cards against him; especially by using Chris. You didn’t want to chance getting Chris killed if you made the wrong move. Your brain wanted to stay collected and patient; while your heart wanted to lean on someone else. But you were already leaning on too many people.

”Honestly, it’s fine. I like my job at R.P.D. Please don’t bother him about it.” Before Chris can argue, you change the subject.

“So what about you? How is your sister?” 

“Hmm? How did you know I have a sister?” 

_Crap._ At least his attention is elsewhere now.

“I’ve overheard some of the guys tease you about her.”

”Don’t remind me,” Chris scratches at his neck, looking visibly irritated. “She’s good. Sometimes she gets on me about my habits a bit too much but she means well.”

”They making sure you’re not living too much of a bachelor life? Laundry piled up and dishes coated in month’s worth of filth?” You give a gentle laugh. 

“Hey I keep a clean home, you saw it yourself. But no, she’s just a little worried since the accident.”

”You had an accident?” Your memory is starting to stretch to its limit as you try to recall any accidents.

”...Yeah. My sister and I, we were out riding, and some asshole hit us. They took off and were never caught. I don’t remember much but I remember the blood. My bike was just torn to shreds. Somehow my sister had the least amount of injuries. We still needed physical therapy.”

”I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m glad to know she’s doing well.” You hated having to resort to the typical apology when someone expresses some sort of traumatic experience in their life, but there wasn't much to say when you’re still practically strangers.

“She’s a strong one.”

“Like you,” you try to reassure him.

“Well it took me a little longer to move on and to stop looking for the person who hit us.” 

You shuffle in your seat awkwardly until you make a move to the refrigerator with the intention of replacing Chris’ empty bottle. 

“Trying to get me drunk?” 

“Oh please, I’m sure you can handle a second one. Unless you want something stronger.” You tease.

”Got any whiskey?” You walk over to a cupboard and open up to reveal an assortment of drinks.

” _Jack_ is fine,” he says. You retrieve his preferred label and give him a quizzical look. He didn’t bother with asking about the other brands. Chris takes the bottle and glass happily and ignores using any ice.

“Bottoms up,” you raise the bottle and finish off your beer, and quickly stand up to replace yours.

”I’ll get it.” Chris holds a hand out and before you know it, he walks over and grabs a cool bottle from the fridge. He twists the cap off with ease and sets it down in front of you.

“Thanks.” 

The buzz had settled in nicely, but now it was encouraging you both to clean out the fridge. In between exaggerated laughter, and more drinking games, you and Chris were soon going through a tour around your home. You felt that little voice of reason calling out to you; the one that helped you remember the important things when drunk-like 911 or where your purse was. This time it’s telling you to make sure Chris doesn’t go near the guest house.

The panic from your small grasp at reasoning, is soothed away as Chris’ attention is pulled towards something much more exciting; you’re more than grateful for the distraction. You both are surrounded by the rich darkness of night, with the sparkle of a lighted jacuzzi and a swimming pool enticing you both to seek some much needed relaxation. Except your nerves are still present, as you find yourself speechless while Chris begs you to join him in the jacuzzi.

“It’s too hot!” you cry out as you shake your head.

“Fine. You go in the pool. I’m going in here.” 

Without warning Chris starts undressing. You turn away, muffling your laughter as he continues to remove his clothes. 

“You’re not serious,” you yell out.

”Not every day I get to use one!” He keeps his boxers on as he takes a dip. He gives a little shout as he settles in, clearly loving the sensation.

You settle for dipping your feet in the cold water of the pool, too shy even in your intoxicated state to start undressing. The both of you are quiet and continue to enjoy the drinks in your hands. But eventually Chris remembers something:

”So, do I get a do over on that apology?”

”No,” you say without an ounce of hesitation.

”Always got to fight you over something.” 

“Well, maybe if we had a nicer start we’d be on better terms.”

”That’s what I’m working toward.” 

“Well, how about I just accept your original apology.”

“I’d like that.” He gives you a handsome grin as he takes a swig from the bottle of Jack, as he long ditched his glass.

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, a little too loudly. “I’ve got a lot to work on.” You want to trust someone from your past for once. Wesker’s trust had conditions.

The sound of splashing water makes you glance back at Chris, who was already making his way to you. He plants himself next to you and tests the temperature by dipping his feet in. "Cheers," he tells you as he gives a gentle tap of his bottle to yours, and you both take another drink. He leans back and his rough hand brushes yours. This sends a little shock through your body. Without thinking you move your hand back to your lap, and watch as Chris notices your sudden movement. He doesn't say anything, but another playful smile spreads from ear to ear. He is close enough that you feel the heat of his body, and he clearly makes an effort to scoot a bit closer to you, as if he was testing you. As always that would only prove to be a bad idea. If he was fishing for reactions, you would top it. You felt the need to cool off. 

Letting that liquid courage take over, you decide to remove your clothes. You give a playful wink as you remove each piece of fabric, sometimes lingering enough so that there was no way for him to avoid seeing you. As you finish up, you leave your precious underwear on and you make an immediate dive into the pool. When you emerge from the cold water, you gently gasp for air and let your eyes adjust to the night. Once again you're feeling that heat rush through you, even though you were currently floating in ice cold water. Chris was watching you. His eyes now taking a look at your form in the water. You doubt that there would be anything worth looking at when ripples spread through the water, and your figure would appear disproportionate, but clearly, Chris was sitting on the image he had before you dove in. 

You remember the day when you worked a very small reaction out of him. Pressing your body up against his. He broke for a split second and you wonder what he'd imagine the scenario to be were you not in public. Perhaps it's all wishful thinking; or perhaps it's the alcohol... _No, it d_ _efinitely had to be the alcohol..._ You pinch yourself under the water, ashamed of thinking how reckless and terrible you were. But you don't stop yourself from being a bit of a flirt. You swim right over and rest your elbows on the edge, a little too close to Chris' knees.

"Wanna join me?" you ask as you rest your head on your arms. 

"I'm okay." Chris is avoiding your gaze, and that was just pushing a different type of button for you. 

"What, now you're shy? You invited me into the jacuzzi a few minutes ago." You try to suppress a giggle. But as soon as his intense gaze returns to you, you feel your skin vibrate as gooseflesh begins to sprout all over. That surge of bravery dissipates, and you feel overly exposed. 

“I’m okay,” he says a little too seriously. He sounded annoyed.

As his silence doesn't help your case, and your limbs are now feeling the bite of cold from not moving, you force yourself out of the water. A part of you is a bit angry. You couldn't deny the fact that your were actually enjoying his company, but you had to feel the sting of rejection. Hopefully, the next day as you're sobered up-you'll instead feel grateful for the lack of progression.

You snatch the bottle out of Chris' hand and taste its contents. As the liquid burns its way down, you give it back to him. "Guess it's time for bed." You try to sound positive. You collect your belongings and insist on showing him to his room.

* * *

After a hot shower, you are slipping into a soft robe. After you secure it in place, you reach down and grab your glass of water. You just hope you can down enough to help prevent the danger of a hangover. But as you are winding down, the feeling of sleep makes your limbs feel heavier, and your eyes burn with drowsiness; even with all of that, you unfortunately have no intention of sleeping for awhile. You leave your bedroom.

It's about two in the morning, and you are taking in the warm sensation of a cigarette, the hallway is dark and all you have for company is the spilling form of moonlight. Just as you are convinced you waited long enough and have nothing to worry about, you eventually hear it: the slight opening of a bedroom door. Your heart drops, and the disappointment sets in deep like one of those many cuts you didn't survive all of those years ago. You really hoped it wouldn't come to this. And then you spot him. 

His form becomes still, and you don't freak out or even get up from your spot on the carpeted floor, you keep working on the cigarette. "Hey, you alright?" Chris stutters out, and you chuckle at the attempt of concern for your well-being. 

"What are you doing out here?" you ask in between drags.

You go over the details of his room in your mind, how it was supplied with a wine cooler, a separate mini fridge with snacks and fountain drinks, and even enough water to prevent his need to go into the kitchen. Going to the restroom wasn't a suitable excuse either, as that room had its own large bathroom. In fact, you picked this room on purpose. It wasn't anywhere near yours, but it was the only one at the end of this hallway; just windows lining the hall, and family portraits. 

"Want one?" You hold out your Marlboro Reds and wait. As he hesitates, you add, "You might need it." He hunches down and takes one from you. You gingerly light it and give it back to him, his body now sits across from yours.

”I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d make myself useful and make sure no one was watching the house.” 

“I don’t think anyone would be able to sneak in here.” You knew that everyone else would probably still be awake, not wanting to chance Chris trying to dig around.

“And what are you doing outside my room?”

“Just wondering if you’re the type to sneak around.”

“You still don’t trust me.” You wanted to trust him, but that was the whole point. It seemed like every time you took a step forward, you actually ended up taking a couple steps back. You just didn't know if it was worth protecting your secrets from him; what kind of damage would come from him learning everything about you. And that selfish side of you wanted to protect the part of you that seemed unbroken.

You stand up and crush the cigarette on the wall, flicking it away without caring for where it falls; too upset over the fact that Chris was still pushing his luck with you. You lean back and try to think of something to say, to think of some way to fix this mess. And the only solution is simply for you to expose everything and let those consequences eat you up. Too bad you didn't want that. 

You stand there is he burns through his cigarette. When he’s had enough, he gets up and crushes it in that same spot, caging you in between him and the wall behind you.

"I’ve got to get some rest. I’ll be leaving a bit early so don’t expect any goodbyes. Everyone will make sure you’re taken care of and fed; just don't go around fucking interrogating everyone." You slip out under his arm.

"(Y/N)." You feel a firm grip at your wrist.

He turns you back to him, and in an instant his lips connect with yours.

Your back hits the wall as he presses himself against you, his lips soft against yours. When you start to move with him, he gives a soft smile before consuming you completely. Your lips moving together until his tongue is urging you to open wide for him. You give in and take him in fully as your tongue dances with his. An audible moan leaves you and he relishes the sound you make, working more of those little noises as he grinds into you. You bite his lower lip, drawing out a deep moan from him as you both finally break the kiss. He makes quick work of your robe, his tongue now trailing from your neck to your collar bone, sending delicious heat to you core. 

His hand slips in and he grabs a handful of your breast, teasing your mound with a gentle tug of your nipple. You want to explore too, you reach down and find what you’re so desperate for: his cock already hard and waiting for you.

” _Fuck,_ ” Chris groans as you stroke him. You start to tease your fingers along the edge of his waist band, eager to dive your hand in and free him of his clothes. You're loving how he is coming apart from your touch.

“Let me taste you,” he insists, breaking contact for a moment.

The robe is now completely open, his lips pressing gentle kisses, making a trail lower and lower until he is kneeling before you.

”Wait,” you say as you get a bit nervous. He listens for the most part, too busy enjoying leaving a little mark on your thigh. He stands up again and kisses the valley between your breasts.

You feel a painful throb in your head, so you come to a stop. “Chris,” you huff out.

”What?” he says as he starts to work a mark on your neck, sucking eagerly. 

“We drank. I-I can’t. I can’t do this knowing we had quite a bit to drink.” There’s an agitated groan as he gives a final bite on your neck before he stops. 

He presses his forehead to yours and you both stand there composing yourselves.

”Okay,” he agrees. And you mimic his response with an ‘okay’ as well. 

“I’ll see you later,” you say with a bit of hope lingering in your heart. 

“Goodnight.” Chris walks back to his room, leaving you a disheveled mess.


	17. Chapter 17

**September 1998**

The screaming was deafening. It dragged on, and once you felt the air in your lungs run out, that’s when you realized it was _you_ crying out the whole time. You stared down at your hands and immediately dropped the thing you were holding: a severed hand. But as it laid there, a new panic settled in you. You picked it up like a treasured doll, and held it to your breast. You looked around for any place that could serve as a hiding spot.

As you started to run, there was a terrible hissing sound just around the corner of the hallway. You stopped immediately. You wanted to run, but whatever that _thing_ was hadn’t chased you down. Clawed steps echoed through the hall, their sharpness scratching and piercing the wood below. They turned the corner and still hadn’t charged at you, and you realized that they couldn’t see your still form. You remained in place, hoping that your breathing wouldn’t give them any more hints to your exact position.

_I should just let it find me._

It eventually passed you, allowing you a few precious seconds to continue your movements. Each step was carefully placed; and when the wood threatened to creak under your weight, you shifted and repositioned-preventing those sounds from exposing you. But you kept your sights on the hallway ahead, a light spilling into view-your only goal in that moment.

One foot after another, you stepped through the house you originally sought shelter in. The seconds dragged on, and if it took anything longer than a few minutes, you couldn’t tell. The blood had rushed to your ears and your hands shook with every hissing and scratching sound. And with each bit of progress you made, the light intensified-a beacon of hope coming from outside of the house.

That’s when you noticed the broken mirror. Your eyes were blood shot and mad with terror. Your clothes drenched at your chest. Any other layers were crusted with gore and mystery bits of the undead you had spent the day fighting off. You glanced at your blackened nails, gunk underneath from fighting and crawling. 

_What the hell was that thing? What the fuck…? No. No. No. Dad…_

_Dad?_

You turned around and looked for him.

_Where’d you go?_

The liquid on your clothes soaked enough that the blood felt cold against you skin. You looked at the hand again.

_Dad?_

_You know exactly where he is._ That voice at the back of your mind taunted you.

_…_

_…_

_…_

_No, he’ll be back. He always comes back._

You stopped looking at the mirror and continued on.

There was a sudden thump on the second floor above you. You clenched your fingers tightly on the hand, using it as support. You kept walking. Eventually, you make it to the front door. You turned the handle as slowly as possible.

The air hit you-hot and cold all at the same time. The fresh air was assaulted by the heat of burning buildings. You kept walking slowly, too afraid of the thing in the house. It could still drag you back inside.

You did your best to avoid the monsters around you. You didn’t even notice how you got to the next house you used as shelter. Once inside, you took a moment to relax-if that was even possible. You looked down at the hand again and a wave of emotions hit you as you recalled how close you were to death. 

It had come out of nowhere. Quick and precise. Something long and wet reached down from the ceiling and wrapped around your father instantly. He did his best to fight it off. He cried that gut wrenching cry that stilled your motions; disbelief striking you to your core as the man above you gets torn to shreds. You’ve never heard anyone let out such a noise before. And as those cries diminished-the crunching of bone taking its place-a shower of blood coated you, snapping you out of your petrified state.

You took a couple of steps back, expecting something more. And then nothing.

You slowly hunched down, your fingers pressed into the pool of blood for the dagger that fell. You eventually felt cool metal underneath your soft fingers. But as you shifted in your crouched form, your leg moved and a small thud caught your notice. A hand. _His hand_.

Your eyes squeezed tightly trying to push those images back. You needed to stay focused. You needed to keep moving. You remembered where you were, and continued to search through this new house. You went through the contents of the kitchen in the abandoned home until you found a towel and proceeded to wrap the hand in it, and placed it in your backpack.

 _I didn’t get to say goodbye._ You felt the bile come up, but you forced it down.

You paced through the crowded streets again. You did your best to dodge the undead who noticed your presence as you aimed your gun at them. You didn’t want to risk luring any more of them to your location, and so you picked up speed trying to get to an evacuation site. You already saw a couple of helicopters take flight; the envy cutting deep as you could only imagine that relief of being rescued and taken away.

The radio gave a couple more locations until they eventually transitioned over to suggesting the police station. You weren’t in any shape to hold out somewhere; you were getting more and more exhausted with time, and you didn’t want to fight anymore.

As you carefully climbed over a vehicle that was blocking your path, you heard a low guttural snarl. When you looked to the left you saw something that was beyond anything you thought possible. The figure was enormous. If you had to guess its height-it could easily be eight to nine feet tall. It was wrapped head to toe, and was clearly armed. That thing took no notice of you and instead walked with a steady pace through the street. At this point you dropped down unceremoniously onto the pavement in an attempt to hide from the creature, not wanting to chance it and give it time to decide whether you were worth hurting. You peeked under the car that served as your place of cover and watched as it kept walking; repeating something: _S.T.A.R.S._ You shook your head, unsure as to whether you heard it clearly enough. It said it again, this time its voice trailing off as it continued to disappear down an alley, crushing anything in its sight.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. That word had great significance in this city. But you weren't sure who was even left from S.T.A.R.S. This overthinking only served to make you feel as if your heart was going to burst through your chest. You didn’t know which of them were even alive. It wasn't just about S.T.A.R.S., but the other officers. What about Marvin...? Was he helping people to safety? No one had called to check up on you. Admittedly, you didn’t reach out to anyone either-only concerned for your family.

The family you no longer had.

Eventually the large creature's harsh voice disappeared, allowing you to leave your hiding spot. 

After another hour of walking and sneaking and dodging, you arrived at an evacuation point. The area was in complete ruin. There wasn't any room for helicopters to land, nor enough room for a bus to take survivors away. The place was covered in ruins and all on fire, with corpses walking about without purpose. You wanted to know how this destruction happened-and like an answer to your unspoken question, an explosion goes off a couple of blocks away. You hoped that it came from reinforcements. But knowing full well that the lurking zombies in this area would follow the sounds, you didn't want to remain in their path. You ran into an alley, taking shelter behind a dumpster. 

They moved so slow. You could feel the temptation of sleep threatening to close your eyes. You wished you could simply cover your body in a large blanket and sleep away without any of those things realizing you were there. Still, you bit down on your cheeks, and slapped at your face to keep from giving in to the exhaustion. More time passed, and that's when you heard something so frustratingly hopeful. The sounds of a distant humming, and then a screech. _A car_. You chanced a glance over the dumpster, but couldn’t see anything that confirmed what you were hearing. However, a few of the undead were breaking away from the horde, moving their shaking and damaged forms to the source.

There was honking. It was close enough that without thinking you popped out of your spot and ran back out into the main street. It was coming closer; that was until the driver spotted the crowd of undead. You started to wave your arms, hoping they could see you; wishing with everything you had that they wouldn’t leave. You started rushing down the street, now fleeing a few of those scattered monsters who were salivating at the sight of you. You couldn’t help it anymore. You began to call out.

“Please,” you whispered to yourself. You continued to call out for the stranger in the car.

The car was parked and you had a hunch that whoever was in that vehicle was weighing their chances with you. There was no way they couldn’t see you now. You almost lost your footing as a zombie crawled out and almost grabbed your ankle. Their legs were crushed enough that they weren’t strong enough to stand up; still, it wasn’t worth the risk in doubting their strength. You took the dagger you had tucked away and slashed at their thinly rotted fingers. A few of their digits flew to an unknown location.

After a couple of grueling minutes, the car began to move in your direction. They picked up speed and each second it closed the distance, you felt your tears trailing down and fly away as you ran with everything you had. They hit the brakes, stopping just a few feet away from you. You don’t stop to make chit chat, your eyes glued on the empty seats, and you desperately opened the back-passenger side and practically threw yourself in. You slammed the door shut and made sure to lock it.

The driver greeted you with a timid smile. She adjusted her rearview mirror and looked you over once before backing up to escape the horde that was threatening to crowd the car.

“Thanks.” You collapsed into the leather seat and secured your seat belt, your body releasing the tension you had for just a brief moment. You made a slight adjustment with your bag, moving it to your lap instead. There was an obvious stench seeping through it. You ignored it. 

“Didn’t expect to find you here. Anyone else with ya?” the woman asked as she adjusted her glasses. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the steering wheel with such force, you thought she would break it. Her words cut through and you bit down on your lip, fighting that ear shattering cry. She saw your face and the uncontrolled tears, and she nodded in understanding.

The drive was a difficult one; often times the woman having to find detours as destroyed vehicles and overwhelming crowds of the undead blocked known routes for an exit of the city. She eventually punched the buttons on her radio and cursed under her breath. The radio continued to play the listed evacuation points, until it concluded with the R.P.D. again. The woman let out a frustrated grunt and looked back at you.

“Police station might be the best bet. Don’t know if we’ll make it anywhere else.”

You nodded and proceeded to crack the window open just slightly, needing some fresh air. As she made her way to your old work, she felt a need to fill the silence.

“You got a name?”

“(Y/N). Yours?” you said roughly; the strain from the screaming finally making a stamp on your vocal cords.

“Juliet.”

The rest of the drive was brutally quiet. Clearly, Juliet wasn’t someone you’d just up and make friends out of. Still, you wouldn’t be able to thank her enough for risking her neck for you. But as you entertained starting up a new discussion, she spoke again.

“Can’t believe I found you.”

“Why didn’t you leave earlier?” You couldn’t help but wonder considering how many cars piled up against your car earlier when shit started to hit the fan. A working car in the middle of what felt like an apocalypse surely should have been a straight ticket to escape. 

“I’m a reporter…been trying to document everything. We had a van-couldn’t tell ya where the hell it is now. We just ran. And then my cameraman, Alexander…he ugh-” You gave a sympathetic frown before she continued again.

“Anyways, I’ve been lugging around this thing,” she pats something on the passenger seat, “well-to be honest I’ve been hiding most of the time. A literal fire lit my ass out of my hiding spot and believe me it’s been a pain trying to carry this shit everywhere.” You leaned over to look at what her hand was gently resting on. A large duffel bag laid safe and sound on the seat. “Camera. Tapes. Just whatever I could grab. Couldn’t even save my freakin’ purse. Expensive too.” She cracked a smile and you just leaned back in your seat.

“The world is going to know what happened here today.” She was practically grinning, and you could imagine the type of notoriety and fame someone like her would get with such a story.

“We’re almost there.” Her tone changed as the vehicle approached your old work place. 

“Let’s hope they have everything under control in there,” you responded. Would Irons know how to handle this situation? You hadn’t seen any more officers about, so there was doubt in your heart. 

“Shit hold on!” Juliet screamed as she swerved around someone who had sprinted out in front of the vehicle. In doing so, the car takes flight as it runs over something you couldn’t see. It landed quickly but Juliet didn’t have a handle on the wheel. The car spun out of control, sliding until the car crashed into a pile of cars that met a similar fate.

“You okay?” you called out as you winced, leaning towards Juliet.

“F-fine. Shit.” She reached over to grab her bag.

“Out of the car!” someone yelled. When you looked around, dazed and arm hurting from your body jerking and slamming into the door, you spotted a man with a gun, pointed at Juliet. “I said out!”

"Don't open that-" you tried to warn. Juliet gave a small whimper as she opened the door, her frail hands in the air as her trembling legs stepped out. Before she made her exit, she attempted to reason with the man.

“I’ll get out, let me just grab my bag and you-” A gargling sound left her as the man slammed the butt of his gun across her face. You could hear her spit out blood. He grasped at her shirt and yanked her out of the vehicle.

“Make one fucking move and I’ll blow her fuckin’ brains out.” The man spat, hunching down and glaring at your hand reaching for your revolver. “Move. And leave the gun,” he signaled with the shake of his gun-pointing towards the seat. You reluctantly left it behind as you undid the seat belt, grabbing your bag.

As you made your exit, you quickly scanned the area for any zombies. Unfortunately, they already heard the commotion and were making their way over. The worst however, was the fact that Juliet was nowhere in sight. 

“Juliet?” Ignoring the man desperately trying to get the car started, you called out as you stumbled around, avoiding random bits of debris. There was a sudden slam on the hood of the car- a zombie had finally closed in and was pounding away at the car. Others soon followed, circling around to get to you.

Your eyes shot up and looked to the entrance of the police station. “Juliet!” You raised your voice, praying that she was just hiding.

You made your way to the gate, and attempting to open it. It was locked tightly in place. Even so, you refused to let that stop you. A police car was pressed up against the wall, doors open and abandoned. You ran over and began to climb, trying to not slip and fall. You quickly gripped at the wall, and readied yourself for a possibly painful experience going over it.

“Juliet!” you yelled out another plea as you looked over your shoulder. Still no answer.

You do everything in your power to hoist yourself up, a crowd of undead forming below you. Higher and higher, you pulled yourself up, using your feet to keep you steady against the brick and pushing with your legs. You ignored the pain on your arms and legs as you felt the sharp points of the finials dig into you. You eventually make it over, plopping unceremoniously onto the ground. A sharp pain shot through one of your ankles, knowing full well that it probably sprained at the very least. You used your remaining strength to stand up, steadily making your way to the gate again. It had been locked shut from the inside. _They’re probably still here._ And the zombies surrounding the area were lying dead-heads crushed in or bullet holes scattered throughout. This was a good sign. 

Your hands gripped at the handles of the gate, looking for the woman who had saved you. Still nothing. It was then a harsh scream sent a shiver down your spine. The car you had traveled in was shaking back and forth. A sudden splash of blood sprays and coats the windows of the car as the man inside had been trapped with no way of escape. With more zombies noticing the constant commotion, you made a harsh choice to stop calling out for Juliet, and turned to the entrance of the police station. It was locked.

“Oh, come on,” you gritted your teeth and gave a couple of harsh tugs. You resorted to slamming your shoulder into the door, but after a few tries, there was no way you had that kind of strength.

But as you had made a fair amount of noise, the grumbling and moaning of monsters started to reach your ears from your right. You looked around and realized that whoever made the gruesome work of eliminating those zombies scattered on the ground, hadn’t conveniently killed every single one at the station.

You reached for the dagger at your hip. There were too many of them. You do what you can to limp away from the entrance of the police station, and figured you’d make your way inside from a different area. You made a painful run around the building, but stopped in place as another crowd of undead blocked your escape. The steps you were so familiar with, were overrun with figures lost in a trance; bumping into each other or swaying in place.

You thought you heard a helicopter in the distance, and your eyes scanned above you, only catching sight of distant lights. Even if you wanted to attempt to flag the helicopter down, you probably wouldn’t succeed in backtracking considering that horde of zombies waiting for you at the front.

You looked for some sort of opening through the crowd below, and gripped at your dagger, hoping that it’ll help you break free when you run through. You made your way forward.

_Shit. I’m going to die right here aren’t I?_

A sporadic sound of gun fire pierced through the grumbling and snarling of those surrounding the steps. Bright flashes and bullets landing their marks made you jump in place. After a few seconds of shooting and grunting, a figure in tactical armor barreled through the undead, knocking many to the ground like rag dolls. They made quick work of running over to you, their face covered by what appeared to be a gas mask. They went straight to the point. “Were you bit?” this masculine voice asked away-the sound of static coating their words behind the mask. As they waited for you, they shot at something behind you.

“No,” you shouted over the gunfire- hands pressed firmly on your ears as the shots rang loud and painful. You did your best to answer confidently, not wanting to risk getting shot on sight because of any hesitation.

You barely finished answering again when he gripped your wrist and pulled you with him. Shot after shot, he disposed of a couple more zombies. When the bullets stopped, he dodged them with ease; your form awkward as you tried not to trip due to how he was pulling you forward. As you two reached the gates of the R.P.D., The man kicked at the gate, the doors swinging open as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. He made quick work of disposing the crowd at the gate, creating space for you both. All you could do was stare in awe as he stepped forward looking around. In an instant, a flash of lights blinded you, and a loud whirring sound of a helicopter had you protecting your ears again.

The stranger who saved you spoke-looking up at the helicopter, but you couldn’t make out the words under the noise. 

You looked over at the car and it was still occupied by the zombies who were continuing to eat their fill of the man inside. You tried to get the masked man’s attention by yelling over the noise and pointing to the car. You wanted to at least grab the bag containing everything Juliet worked to protect. Unfortunately, the man pulled at your wrist and dragged you away.

But that disappointment only lasted a moment as salvation became reality.

* * *

You wake feeling rather nauseous. You hadn’t dreamt something so vivid in so long. Still, reliving such gruesome memories was always unbearable. 

You reach for a paper bag and breathe into it to calm yourself. The plane isn’t too crowded but you feel embarrassed anyways. When you gather your wits, you steal a glance at a young man seated a few seats back. He’d made it in time to book this flight and at this point you just figured he’d always planned this. Still, your heart swells at the potential in his persistence. But imagining a world where you could allow yourself to drown in the comfort of a potential partner-was potentially blocking you from your goals. Between him and Wesker, you’ll constantly be walking on egg shells. But this dream came at a time when you needed that strict reminder to get your shit together. 

Just like before, you relied on those around you to save you. Now that you are returning to Raccoon City, Anita and the others can rest for a bit. It’s your turn to risk your neck by initiating the next step in your plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was recommended to me to split this chapter into two; thus leaving the flashback scene as its own chapter (with a little extra if course). Admittedly, it was a bit indulgent at times, hopefully it wasn't too jarring. I'll upload the next part at some point this upcoming week! 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all have had some good news in your personal lives here in the new year. Take care!


	18. Chapter 18

You can barely see Chris’ face, a seat ahead of him blocking some of the view, and the cap he is wearing doesn’t make it any easier. He appears to be looking down, as if he is napping.

It does feel rather safe seeing him back there. Although you are still caught up on the events of last night, and how he tried to sneak out, he claimed he wanted to make sure your home was safe, but you could still feel doubt in your heart. It was all a muddled mess. You are having a hard time dealing with the onslaught of emotions. One second you’re on a high enjoying the company of a man, next you’re suspicious of his motives. And then you get hit with a wave of vivid memories of that horrible time so long ago. It felt like a warning.

You are safe. You tell yourself over and over again. _Your family is safe_. Those memories had haunted you for a time, causing a period of sleepless nights where you stood watch outside of your house. Your father would try to get you to come in but you’d ignore his wishes, constantly looking at the surrounding trees of the mountains. Waiting for those monsters to come back.

You were for the most part unusually calm when you were first resurrected; but once your state of confusion went away, and the passing days proved you were in fact not dead-then the paranoia came and overtook you. You couldn’t count the number of times you ran into either your brother’s or father’s room, cuddling up next to them-making sure they were still breathing.

Your fingers close tightly around an object on your lap; pulling you from your thoughts. You secure your sunglasses in place on the bridge of your nose as you look down at the leather box. Your hand slowly brushes along the smooth material, and when you open it, you give a bit of a frown. You close the box and stuff it back in your purse. Once the overstuffed bag is back to its place under the seat in front of you, you take a drink of your water.

The plane shakes and rumbles, which only makes your stomach take a turn for the worse. You slump in your chair and give out a quiet groan, the paper bag they left as courtesy getting its full use. After catching your breath, you opt to try and rest your eyes.

With the shade of the window closed, you feel yourself finally able to find comfort in the darkness. You keep the sunglasses on, in favor of hiding the shiner that Anita gave you during your sparring session in the early morning. You had maybe a total of a two hours of sleep, so when you went out to meet Anita, she simply did what you expected-kicked your ass. It was alright with you though, because after getting that physical wake up call, you started holding your own again. You caught her by surprise a few times and when you saw that satisfied smile from her, you knew that you were getting back in your rhythm. When all was said and done, you had cleaned up and watched the new marks you earned; your eyes locked on to the fresh bruises and how they now blended with the marks Chris left on you.

_Chris…_

When you woke up, you had screamed into a pillow. It wasn’t a situation where you hated it, in fact, you wanted more. Your past was filled with unbelievable and admittedly problematic relations. Jonathan shouldn’t count but you didn’t want to ignore the simple fact that you accepted his proposal. It helped that he was respectful and didn’t demand any intimacy from you other than your time. 

But to actually feel desired and in a place where passion and trust were at odds…that was definitely new. And then there was the problem with your boss. The man who held your interest for so long, and you couldn’t just shake that feeling away like you never had anything to do with him. What’s awful is the fact that you could choose to accept nothing had happened; that your old life never counted, that this was the fresh start and Wesker was never in your thoughts. But just like everything else, of course he was still there…

You look down at the purse containing the gift you bought at the airport. You have a new goal: confirm whether Wesker works for Umbrella. You’re nervous. If Anita’s hunch is correct, then you already screwed yourself over by running to him for help. And if you accuse him of these connections, then would he attack you? After all, you are more than willing to cross a certain line when it comes to your secrets.

You’re willing to kill.

The plane shakes a bit more and you tightly grip the armrests at your side. When the plane stops shaking, you look back at Chris, trying not to be too creepy about it. His head is still down, and you assume he couldn't care less about being thousands of feet in the air. You wish you could find that type of peace even on the ground.

You wonder how his morning went back at your house, whether he did in fact take advantage of your absence and searched around for answers he may or may not have questions to. You had to trust everyone would do their part and keep him contained and without enticing further suspicion. Jun might be the only one to give Chris a hard time, except no one had gone to you or called you with any complaints about fighting. However, with the way Chris conducted himself with your father, you had to at least give him a little credit that he would behave, even if Jun wouldn’t.

Chris was a star guest. Very respectful in your home. You learned that he is a good listener. He listened to you ramble about your spoiled upbringing-two sets of memories colliding together. It had been so long, you don’t even remember which events happened first. 

And surprisingly, you got to hear about him too. About his deceased parents; his struggle to take care of his sister; and then came the rewards for his hard work. He didn’t have to worry about her when she proved her independence. His wild tales in the military had brought on bright and dashing smiles out of him. His leading up to the R.P.D. only proved how much he cared about helping people. The only bit of shame you felt in hearing his stories was the fact that he was opening up to someone whom he should be protecting people from.

An announcement pulls you from your thoughts. The flight is nearing its end and just like everyone else, you shuffle around getting ready to stand and stretch your legs. When the plane lands, people make quick work of grabbing their belongings. You don’t dare to look back at Chris again, trying to limit that little obsession that is building within you. And one by one people move down the aisle until it’s your turn to make your exit.

You don’t look back, speeding past crowds of people. You don’t have luggage to pick up, so you keep making your way through the airport, wanting to get to the parking garage as quickly as possible. In truth, you aren’t sure why you are running. But a sound of your name has you rushing your steps, and you realize then and there the reason for your panic: You are scared. You are scared of what he might say. You just aren’t sure whether you are scared of rejection or commitment.

You are a horrible person, you think. You don’t want to hurt him.

_How can one night do this to me? Am I really that weak? I didn’t sleep with him!_

You replay those images of him pressed against you, his breath hot on your skin. He was groaning at every lap of your skin. You remember how he kneeled before you, his lips and tongue making work on your thighs, drawing an ache to your core. But you stopped it. And even if it was to put it bluntly-hot, you didn’t want to feel the weight of regret afterward when you both were inebriated. Well, at least you felt like you were still tipsy enough. It still wasn’t worth the risk.

_He deserves better._

“(Y/N)! Hold up!” He finally catches up with you, no sign of being tired from his little sprint towards you.

You lock eyes with him, noticing the shade of red that has him blinking to keep them from feeling dry. No sleep for him either it seems. “Oh, hey,” you say awkwardly.

“Avoiding me now?” Your face burns with embarrassment. 

“That’s not it! I’m just-I’m just tired! I need sleep.” You can’t look at him anymore. But as you continue your walk with him, you can’t help but catch his gaze again. He gives a rather timid smile. 

“You got a ride this time?” you tease as you both exit the airport and make a walk through the parking garage.

“I do. Need a ride?” 

“No, I’ve got mine.” You keep your eyes straight ahead as he simply accepts your answer without protest. You are a little grateful for that. 

You both take an elevator down to your level, the awkward silence killing you. And as you arrive, Chris tells you he is actually parked one level below. You give him a wave goodbye, and proceed to your car, not wanting to extend that awkward silence anymore. By the time you reach it, you are cursing yourself for acting so nervous around Chris. You dig through your purse for your keys, your hand lost in a jungle of makeup, cash, and receipts, until you find what you need.

As you open the driver side door, a hand snakes around your waste. You immediately lean into the figure behind you and drive your elbow straight into their gut. When you turn, you definitely recognize them.

_Oops…_

Chris is hunched over, trying to catch his breath from how hard you delivered that blow. “Jesus…I’m sorry! But you shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that!” you chastise as you hunch down to meet his face. Your glasses fall from your face, and in an instant Chris seems to forget his pain as he spots the black eye. He slowly stands and you follow, his hand now pressing against your cheek as he observes the bruise and how swelled up it is.

“You should’ve ran,” he says. You quirk a brow at him.

“Huh? What are you saying? Listen, I’m really sorry-”

“(Y/N), if you’re going to learn self-defense, your goal is to create an opening for you to run. Not stay and finish the job. You linger and wait, and you won’t know what they have hidden up their sleeve, or how strong they are. Your goal is not to find out. You run and you call for help. Just like you did when you looked for me the other night.” He continues to trace the angry mark on your eye, but stops when you wince at the pain.

You’re a little flustered at his assumption that you were still _learning_ self-defense. You were simply brushing up on what you already knew with Anita. But…he was right. Your guard was definitely down.

“I-I know that.” When you look at his eyes again, he looks concerned.

“You took quite the beating out there,” he points out but you don’t respond right away, you instead push against his chest, trying to make some room for yourself.

“You were watching?” He nods. “How long?” You aren’t mad, but surely he’d seen that you weren’t completely useless in a fight.

“Long enough to know that you were holding back.” You are caught completely off guard. “You wanted to be punished.” Chris sounds serious, but your mind is racing with the implications of that statement.

“Okay, slow your roll, mister.” You give a nervous laugh and hold a hand out to push him further, but he grabs it in his, placing gentle kisses to your knuckles. Each plant of his lips sends sparks through you. There is a slight sting as your knuckles are raw from the fighting.

“You wanted her to hurt you, didn’t you? Like you deserved it. Like you did something to earn a beating.” He looks in your eyes again and you swallow. You don’t say it, but you do feel some bit of truth to that statement. Even so, you simply wanted to be better than you were the other night. To be stronger.

“Then you started to push back. But I can tell when someone doesn’t give their all. I’ll admit, I was pretty impressed, but your head wasn’t completely in the fight.”

_I’ll worry about that when I’m actually fighting monsters, and not my friend._

“You’re making a lot of assumptions-”

“Deny it all you want, but I can tell. You can defend yourself. Just don’t forget the basics.” His tone is light hearted this time as he gently taps your chin with his knuckle.

You cross your arms, unsure of what you should say. So you just insist on what you’ve been feeling this whole time. “I just want to get better. I don’t want to have to rely on anyone should something happen.”

“I can help with that,” he says with a smirk.

For some reason, that makes you feel better. None of it being about wanting to punish yourself. You already knew you weren’t worthy of saving-your hands bloodied and your heart torn to bits at the thought of failing your mission, but you’ve got business to settle; you’ll wait for punishment after everything is said and done.

 _Deny it all you want_ , his words come back to you. You try to ignore it.

“I’d like that. If you don’t want me to hold back though, then you better not either.” You jab at his shoulder. He lets you push him. He’s quiet, and it’s a little unsettling. “What are you thinking-”

He doesn’t let you finish as his lips capture yours. He’s gentle with his movements. But when you go through the motions, your heart quickening and your movement becoming desperate, your tongues eventually meet. All you can think of is how delicious he is. The taste of the cigarette and alcohol of last night replaced by this sweetness. And it’s absolutely intoxicating. Your tongue delves deeper, needing more.

He holds you close to him and your natural response is to wrap your arms around his neck-like two lovers reuniting. A sight like this isn’t too odd at an airport. You’ve seen it plenty-men and women meeting their partners with hugs and seemingly infinite kisses.

As you take a moment to separate and get some air in your lungs, you look around. The garage is dark and you know that there are probably security officers who make their rounds here from time to time. Returning travelers pace through to make their leave while others rush as to not miss their flights. However, even with people shuffling through, it's rather quiet. 

A hand grips your chin, and Chris pulls you in for another kiss. This time desperate.

“Hold on,” he says as he separates from you and reaches in your car. He unlocks the back door with a click, and your heart jumps. He closes the driver side and moves to the back, opening it for you.

“What are you doing?” you say with a sultry tone. You’re a bit nervous, but you aren’t stupid. You’ve got a good idea of what might happen. 

He leans in and whispers in your ear, “Get in before someone notices.” You look around and realize how well he timed it. You slip in without another word, with him following. As soon as you’re in, he is practically on top of you. The door is shut and you look to your tinted windows and pray that they are dark enough to hide you.

Following Chris’ movement, you lay down. He is working with the room he has, but once he is comfortable enough above you, he leans down and resumes kissing you. And you’re louder this time, sending a wave of moans and gasps as his tongue explores your mouth. His hands are roaming your body, enjoying every little sound you make as he learns every curve, and every spot that makes you squirm. He gives a laugh as he finds your ticklish spot, and dammit it all his voice is fucking hot. His laughter is hot. He is driving you wild with such simple actions.

“Sit up a bit,” he says gently, and you do it without question. He’s quick with his hands, shedding your clothes which cause you to let out a series of protests-more concerned about what he might think of your body.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he insists. Sweet words that help you relax just a little. He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair, his shirt rising and revealing his abs. You bite your lip in anticipation. He takes in the view of your naked form before coming down, his tongue teasing your nipple. Then his mouth is on your breasts, sucking and biting all over to earn those addicting sounds you make. But even as you are losing yourself to his kisses and bites, you retrieve your top and put it on again, looking out the window of the car-absolutely terrified of who might see.

He doesn’t stop you, he lets you have just this one bit of comfort. But that’s all you get as his tongue moves lower and lower on your stomach. He spreads your thighs and takes in the view. You want to close your legs, but he is rough this time, holding your legs in place.

“Not again,” he gives a _tsk_ with the shake of his finger, telling you ‘no.’ He was kneeling before you last night and you stopped it.

This time however…

His mouth is on your pussy in an instant. A loud gasp leaves you as he sucks away, his tongue licking up your folds. He gives a satisfied groan as he continues to taste you, and you are shaking under him. He moves that sinful tongue up to your clit and proceeds to suck down on your sensitive nub. His tongue circles around it, and all you can think is how thankful you are for whoever gave him the practice for this moment. He concentrates on this spot and it has you in a trembling mess. Moaning and softly crying out his name. You give words of encouragement as he expertly eats you out. And soon enough his fingers are teasing your entrance.

He tests you with one finger, and slips right in your wet cunt. Another finger enters and you are moving your hips with him. His mouth is still on you, working that sweet magic. You look him over and you see the bulge in his pants and its driving you wild. You try to protest, to let you have a turn, but he holds you down and continues to feast on you like a man starved for days.

He finger fucks you, but you are panting for more. “Please, just fuck me already,” you beg as he ignores you in favor of pleasing you. But you hear that desperate groan- that moan of pleasure and you know he wants to fill you with his cock.

He could jerk himself off, but he’s concentrating on you, and somehow something so erotic like this is actually making you think about how nice it is. He wants you to enjoy yourself, so you let yourself do just that. You move your hips some more, chasing that release. But as you look out your window, you notice a couple of people at a distance, luggage rolling behind them.

_Seriously?_

“U-um Chris, we better hurry. Some people are going to spot us. So- _Oh fuck_ …” He shuts you up as his fingers push in roughly, and his tongue continues to work your sensitive spot. Your hand shoots up to the roof the car, trying to steady yourself. Your other hand grips his hair as he gets you closer and closer.

The people are closing the distance, but Chris steals your attention. His tongue circles around and once he hears you giving those patterned cries, he keeps that speed and rhythm. The sight of him between your legs drives you wild, and you give a little squeeze of your thighs around him. Soon enough you feel that exhilarating spark.

“ _Fuck, fuck. I’m coming_!” you cry out as that sensation takes over. Your legs tremble and squeeze tight around his head. You whimper away as you come on his mouth. But as you try and catch your breath, you force yourself to move a leg over and you sit up, covering your lower half with the remainder of your clothes.

Chris copies you, and sits up, catching his breath. The people pass your car, and thankfully don’t linger. You start to laugh. Chris can’t help but join in your laughter. “That was close,” he says with a little more shock.

“Yeah, well you are stubborn, aren’t you?” you accuse as you get fully dressed. His eyes never leave your body.

“Believe me, I would have done more if you didn’t tell me about them.” _More? He’s going to kill me._

“Guess we’ll have to take this somewhere else then.” You reach over and capture his lips for a kiss. It’s short but it’s just as wonderful as before. When you pull away, he visibly swallows. The idea of _continuing_ making you very excited, and clearly it’s doing something to him as well.

“Next time I’m off…well, after you get off work, I can make you dinner, if you’d like to come over?” You smile brightly and nod. “It’s settled then. Now, I guess I better give a call back to the boss. Ten missed calls, and my pager going off can only mean one thing: he’s going to wring my neck.”

He leans in and steals another kiss. “Drive safe.” He exits the vehicle and makes quick work of punching in a number in his cell phone, not looking too happy about giving an explanation to Wesker.

 _Oh god._ You look at where you are. “Why is it my car again?” You think about your first time with Wesker, outside a bar, _in your freaking car._

“Dammit, now is not the time-don’t think about that.” You shake your head and step over and climb into the driver side of your car, continuing to talk to yourself.

“It’s going to be fine. We’ll be professional at work. It’s none of their business.” You think about how your coworkers might react. Was Chris the type to keep his relationships on the downlow? Is he going to officially ask you to be his girlfriend? Or do you just assume it’s official now? Perhaps this is all casual and you should STOP OBSESSING. 

You lean your head on the steering wheel. Now another thought comes to you, and it’s the one reminding you that you need to find time to find that reporter you met so long ago. You’ve got to start planting information where you can. You shouldn’t be getting distracted.

With that, you sit back up and start your car. Readying yourself for your last day off before work. 


	19. Chapter 19

You shuffle past a couple of officers in an effort to clock in on time. But you are desperately holding on to your tray of various coffee orders, and the bags you have with you are falling off your shoulder and weighing your arm down. The heaviness of the bags further digs into the crook of your arm, sending a sensation that transitions from discomfort to a burning ache to you skin. You have no intention of doing multiple trips that involve going from the parking garage through tiresome stairways. Thankfully, in seeing your struggle, Emily rushes over to help.

It’s early enough where the sun has yet to help illuminate the police station, so your work place is lit up by artificial lights; a glittering shade of orange that bounces off the freshly polished floors and furniture. Such a glow of the former museum serves to aide you in waking up; having endured a drive through the darkness of the early morning.

“I’ll help you to your desk-Oh!” Emily notices how your eye is bruised under your sunglasses, and she quickly readies herself to drag you away and start the questioning. Before it escalates you immediately explain.

“It’s from boxing.” She eyes you with suspicion so you add: “…It’s for self-defense.”

“Where?”

“Where?” you ask.

“Where do you go for these classes?” she points a finger at you, trying to catch you in a lie.

“Nowhere in particular. I take lessons from a dear friend of mine. We were practicing-I promise I’m not trying to cover for someone!”

And she gives a challenging look, as if to dare you to try and stop her from helping; to stop her from trying to give you a way out should you find yourself in that situation. And her insistence on offering a friendly hand certainly encourages a genuine smile from you.

“Thanks for worrying about me. And thank you for helping me with _this_.” You finally have freedom of movement again. You reposition the bags on your shoulder, while Emily helps with the coffee. “The line at the drive through was ridiculous,” you add as you point with your nose towards the coffee to explain your state of disarray. Emily is quiet for a moment, but finally smiles when she doesn’t see any hints of you tensing or acting nervous.

And as she helps you make the journey to your office; she has her lips pressed firmly into a thin line-contemplating something. And right before you enter the S.T.A.R.S. office, she turns to you and speaks, “Hey…um, I wanted to say thank you for the other day,” she stutters as she grips her fingers into the carboard of the carrying tray. “It helped me clear my head. And honestly, coming back, things have only been looking up. Although I do also have to say sorry for putting you in that position to begin with.”

Emily waits nervously for your response. Even if she is showing concern, you feel none as you don’t have to overthink something that was out of her control. “It was no problem at all. If you’re ever in need of help just let me know. I’ll do what I can.”

“I appreciate that,” she says timidly.

“Well, I guess I better go in-”

“And how are you doing?” she cuts in. “I heard about that robber…” Her look of unease certainly confirms that she heard about the so called ‘suicide’ that resulted afterward.

“Oh, I’m doing alright. Although home doesn’t feel quite the same after something like that.”

“Tell me about it. I had someone break in once at my old place. Didn’t think twice about movin’ out. Stayed with my parents for a bit until I found somewhere else. I-is that why you're trying to learn boxing?”

Wesker’s invitation to have you move in with him suddenly clouds your mind. It still bothers you. He was so comfortable in offering that solution but you just can’t help but wonder if his motives are to keep you in his sights just to continue digging into your brain for all of those locked up secrets. But if you are to take him up on his offer-to accept it and take a chance, you might find it easier to spy on him as well. To find something that incriminates him and directly links him to Umbrella; shedding away any doubts.

Emily waves a hand in front of your face to get your attention. “Sorry. Um-yeah It’s definitely part of the reason. But I’ve been practicing for years. Not very good, but you know how it is. Unless you are picking fights yourself; you aren’t really out there applying everything you know in real world situations. And of course, if you’re in that type of danger, you should be using what you know to escape to safety.” You find yourself thinking of Chris’ advice. And then his accusations of you wanting to find ways for people to punish you. You shake the thought and look back at Emily. She is just nodding like a student does during lectures.

“I’m more of a gymnastics girl myself.”

“Well, that’s a good way to build a great foundation if you choose to learn something like martial ar-”

Right before you can continue geeking out, the door swings open. Barry has to stop himself before crashing into you or Emily.

“Mornin’,” he says excitedly as he looks at the coffee in Emily’s hand. 

“Good morning,” you both say in unison.

From there, Barry steps out of the way and offers to help. But you and Emily both wave him off and continue towards your desk where you deposit your belongings easily enough. You quickly move to boot up the computer, fully anticipating the start up to take a few minutes. And in that time, Emily is giving her greetings to Alpha team.

You do your best not to look in Chris’ direction. But you can hear his voice. And hearing his voice has you assuming that he hasn’t received any punishment for his daring escape to California. At least, you hope that is the case.

He is cheerfully exchanging casual conversation with Emily. And hearing how lighthearted and comfortable he is, does ignite the smallest spark of jealousy. However, you will that down like a menacing sickness. Trying to prevent it from becoming something worse and unhealthy. Their friendship at the end of the day is none of your business. And as much as the possibility does make your heart sink a little-a relationship between them is also not any of your business.

It’s more important to note that your progress with Emily should serve as a reminder that she has come across as nothing more than a good person. Perfect? Of course not, but you are far from achieving such compliments yourself. And you are not opposed to earning something more solid like an actual friendship with her.

You are still waiting for your computer to load, when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Emily is leaning down and practically whispering, “Talk later?” Her voice is pleasant enough. You give her a friendly nod.

So, you take that opportunity and distribute the goods out to all the members. And now that the sunglasses are off, some people ask about your bruising, but you shake their concerns off and repeat your previous answer.

You have Chris’ cup in hand. When you walk over and hand him his coffee, his fingers brush along yours. He gives you a low ‘thanks,’ which does something to your sanity. You can feel gooseflesh prickle on your skin. And his fingers purposely linger a little longer, and that just has you internally screaming for more. But as you separate without another word, you are coming to terms that you hadn’t realized how bad it all is: how touch starved you are.

A single moment of excitement with Chris has you aching for more.

Chris leans into his chair and takes the cup graciously in his hands, his gaze never leaving you. And you take a chance to look into his eyes. The light shines on them and they look like pools of honey. And you feel warmth in them. But meeting his gaze only sends a reminder of how heavenly his kisses were. How rough his hands were, and how addicting his tongue felt as it swirled around your sensitive bundle of nerves. And having all of those sweet memories crashing through like waves has you fluttering your lashes and trying to turn away before you further embarrass yourself. Although from the way Chris brings his cup up to his lips rather quickly, you can tell he too is partaking in any sort of action to get his eyes focused on something other than you. His cheeks could betray his nerves, but before you can witness any color change, he is quick to turn and refocuses on his computer.

When you return to your desk, you then sort through your next bag of goodies, and leave out a couple of boxes of assorted pastries you went out of your way to get. And as the mob of hungry officers circles the boxes, you take that opportunity to grab one more thing from your bag and firmly grip Wesker’s coffee in your other hand.

You give a careful knock but you don’t hear anything from inside the Captain’s office. You don’t see him behind the closed blinds, so you enter.

What you expected was for him to be relaxed in his chair, face leaning on his hand, and with an otherwise undisturbed attitude. Instead, what you are met with has you frozen in place: the Captain is leaning back against his chair, legs posted on his desk, arms crossed, and head leaning back.

You aren’t sure if he is sleeping, but you decide tip toeing is probably the best option for movement. You make careful steps over to his desk, and you gently place his coffee and your gift for him at that respectable distance you were so used to. But even though you are as quiet as possible, he of course picks up on it. And now you’re left to worry whether you might have woken the Captain from a much-needed nap.

“Sorry Captain,” you say quickly.

“How was your time off?” he asks smoothly; paying no mind to your entering his personal space. He doesn’t open his eyes or shifts positions. His features look strained. _Does his head hurt?_

“I-it was good. Thank you for giving me a little more time to recuperate.”

“I don’t think I really had a choice now that I think about it. The little bird will fly wherever she pleases.”

“Well, I’m back. Wanted to keep my word. I hope you haven’t gone around causing any more havoc. Offing people in secret and setting ‘em up as accidents.”

“Been too busy to have that kind of fun,” his lips curl a bit into a modest smile.

And even if he seems rather soft in this moment, you remember that he could have killed Jun and Anita…You try not to let that anger surface. You may only be a secretary at R.P.D., but you’ll have to start playing detective if you want to figure exactly what is going on with Wesker.

“What did you bring me? Coffee and-” his voice trails off. His tone delicate. 

“A peace offering.” Feeling a little brave, you grab the leather box and walk over to Wesker.

At your approach, he finally lifts his head and opens his eyes. The remnants of stress are there. His light skin now sporting little hints of dark circles. “I’m guessing this’ll help,” you say as you hand him the box. He takes it from you and eyes you curiously. He opens the box and stares down at the pair of replacement sunglasses you got him. He takes them out and gives them a bit of an inspection; noting the brand and their overall shape. He is rather quick to put them on. And thankfully, it fits.

“Trying to _court_ me now, Miss Reyes?” He looks rather amused with himself after that comment. You just stare at him like someone being subjected to a series of bad jokes. “Well?” he adds, because the pure look of incredulity on your face is proving to be all too entertaining for him.

“ _Peace_. _Offering_ ,” you insist, as you reach for the glasses as if in protest to his suggestions. And before you can take them back, his hand shoots up and grasps yours.

“Careful, Miss Reyes. Unlike someone else, I do in fact… _bite_.” He raises his other hand and pulls you in, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your neck. He turns your head to the side and tugs at the fabric of your clothes. Down the material goes until he finds those little hints of pleasure that Chris left on you, peppered along your collarbone.

Your face feels incredibly hot now. You try to pull your hand back, but he instead pulls you in closer. You are now awkwardly leaning towards him, and his shielded gaze is still making you feel like he is staring right into your mind. Watching those gears turn and then abruptly stop.

You don’t know how to react. You have no words. And just as quick as he is to grab you, he releases you.

“He sure made his intentions known, didn’t he? But I’d be careful if I were you, Miss Reyes. He’s hiding something from you.”

What went from a feeling of surprise and panic, has now changed into one of animosity.

_Everyone has secrets._

Whether Wesker is being truthful or not, it certainly doesn’t help. You already had a moment where you busted Chris trying to sneak out of the room you provided for him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to salvage what you can; trying to make sure you don’t fall into any traps should he actually be trying to get you to spill everything.

“Chris is not going to protect you. He is not going to entertain the idea that you are anything other than a quick lay. Don’t be so foolish and fall for such basic tricks.”

So, everything is out. Chris couldn’t hide anything, and you can’t either.

“Whom I sleep with is none of your business.” You can see the slightest twitch of Wesker’s lip. But he regains that control.

 _I mean, I didn’t go all the way with Chris, but…_ You can see that just the idea has Wesker incredibly pissed. And you have to pause and contemplate what this all means. What seemed more probable: Wesker being upset over fraternization? Or Wesker being pissed that you gave that attention specifically to Chris? And you have a good feeling over which one it is.

“Out with it,” you demand. “Just tell me everything that is on your mind. What is it that pisses you off? I’m not a child, and I don’t read minds! And I doubt you are going to fire me over this seeing as how you went out of your way to get me hired here. So, what the hell am I supposed to make of this? You say he is hiding something. But you’re just going to let that blow up in our faces because you’ll decide to keep his secrets all the same.”

You have to catch your breath for a moment. Wesker remains quiet, sorting through his next words. And when he does speak, he is visibly calmer. “You’re right. Being transparent is what is going to help us come to an understanding. And right now, what I need you to understand is that you have been set up from the very beginning. But now you are being lured in by someone unworthy of your attention. And believe me, you’ll feel that statement as nothing but the truth after we finish here.”

Wesker stands up, and you have to scoot back to make room as he makes his way over to a cabinet. Immediately, he pulls out a key and unlocks one of the drawers. After some time of sorting through paperwork. He pulls out a file.

“Here.” He hands the folder out to you, and you take it hesitantly. You think for a moment it might be pictures of Michael again.

You look through it, and immediately drop the folder. The papers scatter at your feet. Your heart beats wildly and you are contemplating running out of the office. Your father did warn you. If it gets too much, you need to leave. You’re in over your head.

“What is it now, Miss Reyes? Are you not feeling well?” Wesker kneels down and picks up the thrown contents, carefully reorganizing them.

“Y-you-”

“Me? This is about _you_. It’s always been about you.” He looks up at you with a wide grin.

You book it to the door, but Wesker stands and reaches out for you, grabbing at your wrist and pulling you back against his chest. A hand wraps around your mouth, preventing you from screaming.

_Flashes of a pale face. The breaking of bone. Blood splatters and it blinds me. I blink until my tears clear my vision. I’m seeing red- like flames with tendrils reaching out threatening to burn me inside and out. There's blond hair-loose from the struggle. Another splitting pain erupts. I can’t breathe._

_I remember something else...I hear laughing. They're mocking me. Telling me I should've died with the rest of them._

_He’s going to kill me..._

_He’s going to kill me!_

_I can’t move!_

You’re scanning for anything you can grab as a weapon. But your fear paralyzes you. You try again, but there is nothing worth grabbing-let alone _possible_ to grab. You throw elbows, stomp at his feet. And when that doesn’t work, you kick and try to trip him. Your mouth forces movement under his grasp, and you bite down with everything you have. You taste blood.

“Shhh…,” he moves fingers along your scalp. “I’m not going to hurt you. Be still.” His words-like poison- only push you to bite down harder. You feel his hand clench and press into your face with more force. And you remember he is human. He feels pain.

But just as you are feeling that confidence, he throws your back against the desk. A sharp pain shoots along your spine and you’re wailing under his rough fingers. He pins you down and leans over your trembling form.

“You know who this is.” He isn’t asking. He holds out a photograph that was in the file. You don’t answer.

“We’ve been looking into his disappearance as a favor to an old friend.”

You try to knee him in the groin, but his legs have you locked in place.

“Have you ever met William Birkin, Miss Reyes?”

You struggle some more, and you can feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You think you might just choke on Wesker’s blood.

“Well, I guess he doesn’t really have time to be going out of his way to meet new people. But he is a man of caution. And when it comes to former employees of his, he is rather attentive to their whereabouts.”

There’s some chatter going on outside of the office. And while you want to be able to catch their notice, Wesker looks completely unbothered. He takes a moment to look over his shoulder and then his attention is back on you. 

“Never mind any NDA’s or the threat of a big company breathing down your neck. If someone came across William’s research at any point, he knows exactly where to find them. And it so happens one of those people disappeared.” Wesker flashes the picture in your face once again. “He’s not going to just let someone run off with even an ounce of knowledge when it comes to his research; so he reaches out to me.”

_Stop. please. I can't...Breathe._

“It really wasn’t hard to put together. And might I add it’s quite a coincidence how your husband was involved; but this was before you married him right? Jonathan DiMaggio’s daughter went missing how long ago? It’s a shame really. She’d be in her thirties about now. And it seems she was on track to getting married-”

You finally get a knee in, landing it to his stomach. His hold on you finally creates space, and you take in a much needed breath. But just as you ready your fists, he pins you down again. He composes himself and continues, “William’s old employee was a suspect, but he was cleared of any suspicion due to lack of evidence. Shall I go on? You look rather winded.”

He gives you some room underneath him, and you find that it is easier to breathe. But his hold on you is unforgiving and rough.

“And one day he meets a woman who puts him under this spell. Seems he was quite taken with her, according to their friends and family.” His thumb gently massages little circles on your cheek. “And that’s where things go blank. They heard of her, but they’ve never met her. Man goes missing and no one is talking-or willing to talk. It took us a while to figure out who this mystery woman is, but when we did, I couldn’t believe it.”

You stop moving. You finally look at him.

“One day a picture comes across my desk. It’s _you_. Up until that point, I had Chris looking into this for me. I couldn't focus solely on helping my old friend, but I didn't want to neglect his concerns either. So, I put Chris on the case. But he found you. And when he did, something clicked.”

He leans in and whispers: “I don’t have the complete picture (Y/N). Something happened, and from that day on I knew something had changed. But even if the things I try to recall don’t come to me, there is one thing: _I remember you_. I remember that you used to be _mine_.”

_W-what? What is he saying?_

His hand doesn’t loosen in the slightest. At this point your eyes are blurring. You feel dizzy.

“I remember enough to know that we’ve been here before, haven’t we? You tried to change the future. And it still brought you back to _me_.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out earlier, so I apologize for the delay. This one gets pretty dark in the beginning. I don't really get into the habit of listing specific tags in chapters because everything is listed above. But I figure it doesn't hurt to give that healthy reminder to go over them again. Speaking of healthy reminders! Drink some water, eat some food, take your meds. 
> 
> Hope everyone is well!

**1996**

“He’s going to bleed out.” Even as Jun commented with mild concern, he didn’t rush his methods as he continued to work.

“Hey wait-”

The screams were horrid. It was a loud and pained shrill. And then the gargling came next. But it wasn’t anything new for you. You heard very similar screams before.

You were seated in a corner, and you looked down at your bloodied hand. The knuckles were raw from the constant impact of fists to the man’s jaw. You tried to separate the fact that you actually knew him on a sort of personal level; that the name Emir wasn’t something you had to say sweetly in order to lure him into a fantasy.

Your face hurt. You didn’t have the motivation to bother checking if anything was broken. You didn’t have a mirror, so you couldn’t take a look at the damage. A hand reached out in front of you, presenting a handkerchief. Old, and fragile hands. Untouched. Clean. You took the cloth into your own.

“It’s almost over now,” he looked down at you. “You did it. And they all know now that you are going to lead them to the end of this.”

“He isn’t going to talk,” you said with a strained voice.

“Maybe he’ll talk to you,” Jonathan suggested. “After all, he cares for you, does he not?”

You look over at the figure in the chair. Tied and beaten. Jun stopped the bleeding, but you didn’t want to play the part of a torturer.

“I don’t think-”

“We need to know what happened. So that this doesn’t happen to anyone else.” When he looked down at you, his eyes were ablaze. Dark and uninviting. He had waited for this moment for years. But when he became too old and too sick, he couldn’t even defend himself from an animal, let alone a younger man. You were all here to see this through. But you were the one he pushed the most.

“Who are you talking to?” Anita looked down at you, holding out the handkerchief. You looked at her completely shocked. You looked around and realized that you were not in the company of the old man.

“Shit...just kinda out of it right now.”

“Well please focus.” 

“Kind of hard to do that when Jun is laughing every few minutes,” you scrubbed at your face, feeling nauseous. “I mean, what if he didn’t do it? What if it was someone else-”

“After everything he did…You can’t be serious. David will be here soon, and I doubt we’ll be able to get much out once he is here. Please, just hurry and see if you can shake something out of him.” Anita looked over at Jun and sighed.

“Really? I don’t think I can do that.”

“Well I can’t either! I don’t do blood.”

“Coward.” Without another word you stood up and walked over to Emir. You took the clean cloth that Anita offered and walked over to the distant pair. Jun paid no mind to your sudden intervention, and he found a chair to sit in and watch.

You went over to the man, and you started to clean the blood from his face. He looked so confused, unsure of your intentions. Just an hour ago, you were arguing with him. And then the arguing turned violent. You had a feeling something was going to go wrong beforehand, so you had sent out a page to Jun. 

“(Y/N)…what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“Shhh.” You tried to give him a sincere smile, as you continued to clean up the blood.

“Love, they aren’t going to stop if you don’t start answering their questions.”

“But I don’t know what the hell they are talking about. I don’t know who Catarina is!”

You pressed your forehead to his like so many times before. “Love, I can’t help you if you keep on lying-”

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m not! Please, honey just let me go. I just want to go home. Please take me home. I promise I won’t lay another hand on you, just please don’t do this.”

Anita started praying; trying to close her eyes and hope that you can finally get the details Jonathan wasted years searching for. 

“I know you recognize her,” you gestured towards Anita. “She just wants to know what happened to her cousin. Emir,” you struggled to get the words out, “I am more than happy to believe you if you say you didn’t do anything to her, but if you know someone who did, that would be invaluable. We just want closure.”

He kept his face down, not wanting to reveal anything with any subtle expressions. 

“Enough of this!” Jun rushed over with his switchblade.

“Don’t!” You used your body to shield Emir.

“Christ, (Y/N), this is a waste of time. I can get it out of him! Just give me a few more minutes”

You didn’t answer Jun. You had your arms wrapped around Emir, and you placed little chaste kisses on his temple; pleading with him. Giving him soft promises of going home with him. He just had to do this one thing.

And after a long moment, he finally started to talk. He gave you everything you needed. And even though you had a moment of doubt, he just kept going and going. Jonathan had been right. But somehow, even after hearing it, it felt anything but right. It felt disgusting. And you weren’t happy about finding your confirmation. You just wanted to get away from it all. In that moment, you wanted to take it all back.

“I didn’t mean it…I just didn’t understand why it couldn’t be me. I should’ve just waited. I could’ve met you without having this haunting me.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t…she’s…”

“Where did you take her?”

It was another minute of silence before he responded: “They needed live specimens.” You glanced back at Jun, and you both had the same look of fear. And hearing him say ‘specimens’ made you cringe further; the thought of Jonathan’s daughter being reduced to a little thing left to the mercy of strangers-like she wasn’t human.

“Where is he?” A distant shout came through.

 _No, not now!_ You thought.

“Where the fuck is he?” The shouting was getting louder

“Where? Where is she?” you started to plead. You were running out of time.

“Get out of my way.” You heard Jun step between you and David. The sounds of a struggle continued behind you, but you focused on Emir. Your eyes desperate as you fought for those answers.

“T-they don’t really have a supply of ‘volunteers’ so they seek other methods. The healthier, the better. But it’s been a few years now…Even if she were alive, they’d probably did so much damage that we wouldn’t be able to recognize her.”

From the sounds of impact and cursing behind you, you knew David and Jun were fighting. You started to question him for details: What was the nature of these experiments? What did he work on? You continued and he answered with a hushed tone, all while looking down at his bound legs in shame.

You didn’t want to believe it. After all this time, you wanted to believe his experience at Umbrella was merely a coincidence. You helped Jonathan and everyone else with this, because it had helped you fulfill a need to poke at the big ticking time bomb waiting ahead. But as he started talking about their goals in developing bioweapons…that was more than you wanted to hear. But it made sense. 

After all this time, you had suspected that what you had witnessed was all a science experiment gone wrong. And Umbrella was responsible. Instead, Emir went over the details of how their experiments involved both animals and humans. That they were willing to go as far as they needed. And that anyone working under the leading researchers were not allowed to ask questions. They did as they were told. And then he talked about Catarina, and how she was supposed to be his. Like some sick bastard, he couldn’t deal with rejection. As soon as he got too rough with her, he panicked and disposed of her to his ex-employer. They took her without question…

“You piece of shit,” David spat and pushed you aside. You landed on your side with a painful thud. You sat up and watched as David got in Emir’s face. “Where the fuck is she, you sick fuck? Where is my wife!”

You flinched as he shouted and cried out. He referred to her as his wife…? As far as you knew, they never got to tie the knot. And it pained you to hear him say it. It pained you to hear his heart shatter all over again when you knew he had been bottling everything up until now.

You looked over and saw Jonathan again; his salt and pepper hair appearing dark as the sun was now setting. His hands trembled, overlapped as he balanced himself on his cane. You squeezed your eyes shut. And when you opened them, he was gone.

Anita paced back and forth, realizing how real everything just became. What had been a seemingly impossible task turned real. You all found him. It took some time but you tricked him; and now you had him reduced to a crying and tortured mess.

You looked around for Jun, and spotted him sitting cross legged, nursing a wound. He wiped at his lips; the blood flowed freely. His light skin was displaying different shades of pink and red. And it was going to be a nasty purple soon enough. You finally stood up and walked over to Jun. You reached a hand out for him, but he didn’t take it. He instead asked you to let him know when it was time for the next step. You flinched again but you nodded anyways. You walked over to Anita.

“Is she alive?” she said as those words came out slowly.

You shook your head.

“He could be lying. He could have her in a basement somewhere-”

“He’s not lying,” you said confidently. Anita might have thought that your time with this man had gifted you more than enough insight to tell when he was lying or telling the truth. But you owed it to both Emir’s defeated expression and the fact that you saw the results of those experiments walking around, spreading this disease-this virus. You saw how fast everything perished and burned.

A horrendous wailing sound started up, but was soon silenced as David started to shove something in Emir’s mouth to quiet him down. Everyone just watched as David started to take his anger out on this man. There was so much blood splattering everywhere. David didn’t care what tools he used; he grabbed anything in his path. Over and over, he took from this man. But no amount of flesh was going to take away the years that David spent without the one he loved.

Once again you looked over to Jonathan, who had turned around at the sight of the carnage before you. You wanted it to stop. And seeing him like this felt like his way of telling you how wrong you all were. He wanted justice. He wanted closure. He had warned you that this man was dangerous; that you may have to kill him. But you’d never imagined doing _this._

And just as you were about to shout for David to stop, your words were suddenly caught in your throat. Emir was looking at you. Nothing but betrayal and heart break. But what you had experienced with him wasn’t love. And his obsession with you would end today. Would you have ended up like Catarina? Even so, watching him now, didn’t give you any sort of satisfaction.

Suddenly, Jun stepped in and lifted a pistol at Emir’s head. Your hand reached out but it was too late.

“I…wasn’t…finished,” David said in between long and weighty breaths.

“You can’t even see the fear in his face anymore. What’s the point in that? It’s no longer fun.” Jun shrugged and pointed to the mess. And most of that mess was David’s doing.

However, anyone could argue that Emir still had the ability to express fear. Jun might not say it out loud, but even he couldn’t take anymore of David’s raw outrage. The calm one in the group had lost it, and he wasn’t planning on stopping his lust for blood any time soon. Jun stepping in was a big message. Everyone had stepped beyond a line that no one would be able to take back anymore.

After a few minutes of silence, you stood up.

“We need to clean up. Let’s hope no one heard that gunshot. Anita, you’ll have to get supplies, seeing as you don’t have any blood on you.”

You could tell that she was about to protest, but stopped as soon as she saw your face. This wasn’t the time to argue. You didn’t wait for her confirmation, you walked over to David and pulled him in for a hug. And he cried into your neck. Letting everything go.

* * *

Everything is a blur. You are shaking so hard you feel like you’re about to burst out of your own body. And you wish you could do just that. To ghost your way out of here. But instead, Wesker watches you with curiosity. You can imagine that he is wondering how you’ll react next. He is revealing that-for god knows how long-he remembers you in your life before. But he commented on how he doesn’t have the ‘complete picture.’ Is he truly missing pieces of that past? 

But you are just so overwhelmed by all of this, and you can’t even cry out for help. His words stunned you enough that you stopped biting down on his hand.

“Well?”

You don’t want to answer. You are terrified and furious. Most of all, you are tired. Going through so many years thinking you were alone with these memories; and here you are being confronted by Albert Wesker. As you contemplate giving an answer, you realize he isn’t being rough with you anymore. One hand has moved to cup the side of your face; anticipating the words that have yet to form and make any sort of sense in your mind.

With the vast amount of information coming to you-clashing and fighting for some sort of rational explanation; you just start laughing. You didn’t mean to. But seeing Wesker shift almost as if he is made to be the one who is uncomfortable-that sends a delightful thrill through you. Your body shivers and that laughter overtakes you. It’s a muffled laugh but you aren’t stopping. You close your eyes and lose yourself to the ridiculousness of the situation.

And even if you feel like you’re losing it, you’re actually feeling a little more capable. Like you aren’t about to let this bastard treat you like his little play thing that he caught in his trap. Sure, he found out about you killing someone. And what? He killed for you a few days ago.

His hands loosen in response. And your laughter is free to fill the office. If Alpha team is still in the main office, they can probably hear you. It’s alright, you think. _Let them hear me_. _We’re just having a good ol’ time in here_. _Nothing wrong at all_. And you are going to walk out of here with your head held high and think nothing of it. Because that’s what this is: nothing. He isn’t winning this one.

When you open your eyes, you notice how Wesker’s lips are formed into a thin line. His emotions aren’t obvious, but as you continue to laugh, you stand up and push him away with your hands. And you probably look rather insane. You can just imagine the sight of you with your high-pitched cackling, and your face bloody. And if it helps to piss him off, you spit out a bit of blood on his floor.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He visibly freezes. He is taken aback with your sudden shift in mood. He must have expected you to wail and beg. “What is this bullshit about me being yours? I’m getting the feeling that perhaps you’re the one who should’ve taken some time off.”

“Don’t…” he finally says-and it’s a harsh tone; a warning not to lean on what you are used to doing: lies and constant denial. And you just look at him like he’s completely lost it. It’s all you can do. Running would only get you trapped underneath him again.

“If you could just elaborate on whatever that weird crap was-that shit you were spewing, then I’d be more than willing to talk through this. But right now…”

Wesker is disturbingly quiet, and you are expecting him to try and shut you up when you give another mocking laugh, but he just stands there for a good minute.

You eventually ask for a cigarette, because at this point, you are more comfortable doing anything other than standing around and letting dread steal away that brave front you have on.

He looks almost offended at the fact that you requested such a thing. Except, with a heavy sigh, he caves in. Before he humors your request, he takes out his first aid kit and does a quick wrap of his hand. And like a little form of payment for the favor he is going to fulfill, he goes over to you and holds out his hand. You take the hint, and tie it off, making sure it’s snug enough.

He takes a seat in front of you. You take this opportunity to stretch out your limbs after enduring all of that heavy muscle when he trapped you. And you wasted a good amount of energy trying to break free. As you feel a sense of relief, you plop down on the desk in front of Wesker.

You place the cigarette in between your lips with as much calm and nonchalance you can muster. And while Wesker lights it for you, you notice the smear of blood coating your fingers. You attempt to clean yourself up, but after some effort, you know the mess is nowhere near gone. It’s pretty much close to dry on your skin.

Wesker puts the pack of smokes and lighter away, not intending on joining you. Playing on the little victory you earned, you blow puffs of smoke in his face. 

“So, what? You gonna keep me in here all day?”

At that moment, someone knocks. Wesker doesn’t panic, and you make no move to help him. Still, he stands up with that annoyingly calm strut, and he opens the door ever so slightly, keeping his injured hand out of sight. He exchanges quick words with Jill-who you recognize from the sound of her voice; and you hear enough to pick up the very important detail of ‘doing another one on one.’ Sure, that would be rather credible at any other job. But it was all he could say to not stir up suspicion. And he was practiced at lying. Jill gave a silent apology and went on her way to continue her work. Leaving you with Wesker’s stolen time.

You can’t help but wonder about Chris. _Is he still out there?_ If he was always intent on proving your involvement with the late Emir’s disappearance, then would he even show concern if you do end up staying in Wesker’s office all day? After all, they are apparently in on this little case together.

But that is all a whole new set of concerns for later. You have to focus on getting answers; and hopefully you can get out of here otherwise unscathed. Wesker is sitting in front of you again, not bothering with humoring your original question. It’s possible he is just as confused as you are.

“Hello?” you insist. Perhaps it’s adrenaline, but you don’t care about the risks of pushing any buttons. You decide to nudge him with your heel, pushing his shoulder a couple of times with your leg. As he lets you get away with that contact, you immediately cross your legs and take another drag of the cigarette.

You look down at his hand; the wrappings are starting to turn red.

“We’re both a mess. Can you just run out and get me something to clean myself with? The sooner I leave, the quicker you can go and get that looked at.”

“We’re not done talking.”

“Well then talk. Tell me about your little insane fantasy about us knowing each other in another life. When was it, by the way? I’d like to think I lived an old life as royalty somewhere. Perhaps you were a little stable boy-”

“I’d prefer to talk about the advantages you seem to have. You carry yourself through these hallways as if you’ve always worked here. You know certain things-”

“Like what?” you say with a yawn.

_Maybe he knows more than he is letting on. What if he actually remembers everything? Can’t take chances here. He needs to be the one to do all the talking._

“Why did you target Mr. Sanchez?”

“He was an abusive creep.”

“He worked for Umbrella,” he counters, but you shrug your shoulders, giving a look of expectancy-as of waiting impatiently for him to explain.

“Why did you kill my intruder?” you decide to ask.

“This again-”

“Well, we both got a body count apparently. You ask about mine and I’ll ask about yours. Why do you give a rat’s ass about some asshole who is responsible for my Jonathan’s suffering? Huh?”

A low chuckle leaves him. “You didn’t love him, did you?”

“So?”

“So, I would like to know why you agreed to such a strange arrangement. A man who has no business marrying a young woman; and apparently encouraged you to off someone he _suspected_ of doing harm to his daughter.”

You start laughing. “Speak for yourself! How old are you again?” He’s gripping the side of his chair with his good hand. You are just pissing him off some more, and it honestly feels amazing. But you decide to give up a little info. It’s not like you can hide what you did anymore. But you can control how much information you’re willing to part with.

“He wasn’t a suspect last time I dealt with him.” You don’t bother giving any hint to there being more than one of you involved. If this all blows up, you should be the only one to go down. “He beat the shit out of Catarina-Jonathan’s daughter; and then sold her to someone.”

“And he told you this?”

“No, I got some encrypted message from the future,” you snap back. 

Wesker brings his hand up to his face and rubs circles into his temple.

“Let’s…take a break. I…need to clear my head.”

“Okay but are you going-”

“I’ll bring you your damn towel.” He doesn’t shout, but you hear the strain of anger laced in his words. He apparently expected everything to go very differently. He stops by the door, and gives a very innocent sounding plea. “Just please, don’t leave this office.”

Now you are stunned. It sounded so very sincere. So, you decide to wait. You had bought yourself time. And now the one confused and frustrated is Wesker. It’s nice not having to scramble for a way out now. You give a few more puffs of smoke before crushing it into the unused tray in his office. Soon enough Wesker returns.

He has a bottled water in hand and some paper towels tucked discreetly under his arm.

He positions himself at his seat again. He nods over to the desk, and you walk over and take your place on top of it. He pours water in a sheet, and when it is damp enough, he reaches out and starts cleaning the blood off of you. You watch as he keeps quiet, his hands increasing in pressure as the blood is a bit difficult to scrub off. You give a frown, but he just keeps working. You find yourself unable to look at him. This feels a bit too intimate.

Wesker finishes and tosses the bloodied sheets into the trash. You look to his hand again, and what previously looked a bright red, had turned into a dark crimson-he’d have to change those out quickly. You didn’t realize how gruesome that bite was. All you could think of was escape during that, and the thought of holding back was no where in your mind. You bit down and tore through his flesh, and he still toughed through the pain.

“Alright well I’m guessing you need to leave so you can get that cleaned and wrapped properly. Don’t want it getting infected you know.” You try to distract him with anything that doesn’t involve outing yourself as someone attempting to mess with the future. He might have guessed correctly, but you sure as hell aren’t going to give him that confirmation.

“So, where do we go from here, Miss Reyes?” He moves a leg up to block you; in case you were thinking of standing up and leaving immediately.

“I honestly don’t know. You going to arrest me now? Hand me over to this Birkin guy?” You arch an eyebrow at him and wait for his answer.

“I promised him I’d find out how much of his research got out.” _Ah, shit._ “And I promised him that if I found Mr. Sanchez, that I would dispose of him.”

A bit of a realization hits you, but before you can ask, he speaks: “But seeing as you already fulfilled that part of the bargain, all that is left for me is to question you thoroughly.”

In an attempt to change the subject, you bring up Chris. “And what about Chris? How does he tie into all of this? You wanted to paint him in a bad light, and all I got was that he did your homework for you.”

“He knows enough to expect you to be brought in on the suspicion of murder.”

“Okay, but you hired me because…? I’m still drawing a blank here. And how would that make Chris any more comfortable with having to deal with me as both a suspect and an employee?”

“I hired you because I wanted you to be here.”

“To be here and?”

He stayed quiet.

_Oh…_

_Oh, dear…_

“There’s really more normal approaches to this sort of thing you know,” you say with pure frustration.

“Chris spotted you first that day in the bar. We were already investigating you and your family at that point. So there was no way to go around having to bring you in at that point. It just so happened that your brother decided to play trouble maker all on his own.”

_Jesus, why is my whole family fucked up._

“And then you snuck into my office. And you left my things where you used to leave them. And the longer you sat in that chair, the more those memories became real. Any doubts I had seemed to vanish when you were here again.” You were incredibly still; you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat hammering away. You wonder if your fingers shook visibly. “I’ll be honest. I’m very curious as to what other things you have hidden up your sleeve. But at the end of the day, I just want to remember. When you leave, I can barely hold on to what I already uncovered. And then the migraines start.”

 _What the hell? Are we connected somehow? How would that even be possible?_ Being near him helps him remember. But what if you don’t want him to remember everything? What if the memory of him murdering you sparks his need to quickly finish you off again? Had you given him a reason to bring out his anger back then? You hadn’t the faintest clue. You never went out of your way to wrong him.

“And maybe, you’ll remember too. Do you remember anything now? Is there a single moment that even feels like Déjà vu when you’re with me?”

_Here we go._

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.” You are having a hard time lying when he is leaning towards you. You are suddenly aware of the pressure of his hand on your knee. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable; it feels like he is hoping it would trigger a memory for you if he just did _something_. But you need to reinforce a boundary; you wrap your fingers around his hand, and carefully peel it off you.

“Maybe you’re remembering someone else,” you suggest. “I should go. I think we’ve exceeded the appropriate amount of time for a ‘one on one.’ That is-if you’re actually worried about what people think. And for fuck’s sake, get that looked at!” As soon as you are on the move, you don’t hesitate. He doesn’t pull you back in; he doesn’t stop you.

You should be calling for help-to start crying out and exposing their Captain as some insane person who put their hands on you. But as your eyes adjust to the bright light of the main office, you suddenly feel like you’re in a trance. No sense of direction in sight. You don’t know how much you should say or hold back. You are unsure as to how to confront Chris. But just as you are in need of your own answers from the one person who just might be more grounded in reality-you don’t see him.

The only person in sight is Brad Vickers.

He gives you an awkward wave. “Hey.”

“U-um. Hey.” You wave back and proceed to the bathroom.

After you pat dry your face, you look yourself over once more. You don’t know if it’s paranoia, or if you swore you noticed the sheen of blood still coating your face. And your lips were swollen. But now that you washed up, you just hope that Brad doesn’t make assumptions and starts spreading rumors involving you and the Captain. Your appearance is normal again, but you are still trembling.

_You got out of there. You’re alright._

Now it’s time for the hard part.

You work the rest of the day like normal. Alpha team cycles in and out and you do your best to tune them out. They had a large stack of paperwork waiting for you while you were gone, so that helps you to stay on task and to not overthink things. Because if you overthink anything, then you are afraid that the bit of fortitude you basically conjured up in that office, would crumble and reveal those incredibly vulnerable set of emotions that you fought to keep down.

The Captain makes an appearance again, and his hand is professionally wrapped this time. When people ask about it, he blames it on someone he had to question out in the streets. Everyone just shrugs it off like that interaction is completely normal. And everyone encourages him to give the details. They do more talking than Wesker; assuming details about how he probably put ‘that guy’ in their place. And when that conversation becomes boring for them, they realize the added detail on him.

“Hardly recognized you Cap!” Barry says with a whistle as he notices the sunglasses. And he gives a bark of a laugh; incredibly common among fathers everywhere. It’s loud and boisterous and strong. It’s getting harder to tune everyone out with so much noise.

You look over at the Captain, and his features don’t betray that bit of vulnerability he allowed to slip earlier. But you notice his shoulders relax. Perhaps he expected you to leave.

_Yeah, about that…_

You practically facepalm as you find yourself at your limit. “I’m going to lunch!” You stand up and gather your bag and rush out. The person you’d normally ask is gone anyways. And at this point, every minute waiting for him is causing the anxiety to build up. Chris has his own set of questions waiting for him. And you are incredibly afraid of what he’ll say.

As you make your way down the stairs, you feel footsteps behind you. “Oh, no. What do you want now?” You look over your shoulder and roll your eyes; increasing the speed of your footsteps.

“I know a good place for lunch.” Wesker says with all the confidence in the world. He picks up his pace and matches your speed.

“Cool. See you later.” You are looking forward to escaping away at some café. But as you pick up speed, he stays with you easily enough.

“Let me treat you. And we can talk a bit more comfortably.”

“Are you serious? After what you did? You think I want to be anywhere near you right now?” you say in a harsh whisper, keeping mind of the people around you.

“If I can ensure that you are safe and have the power to keep it that way, would you humor me then?”

“No.”

You both stay on track until you are in the parking garage. As you approach your vehicle, Wesker holds his hands out as if surrendering.

“Here.” He carefully reaches for his gun, showing you that it is loaded. Then he turns it over to you. _This is so irresponsible_. Anyone watching would be horrified at the sight of their Captain handing their weapon over to some random person. “Or…do you not know how to use one?”

“I do.” You grab it from him and angle it safely away. “Is this really necessary? Do we really need to have this conversation?”

“Not only is it necessary, but it is extremely important.” He arches a brow at you, and you just shrug in defeat.

You look down at your hand, making sure your fingers are positioned carefully around the gun. It feels heavy. You realize you’re slouching a bit; almost too exhausted mentally to be dealing with someone as unpredictable as Wesker. You don’t want to be anywhere near this man-at least not now. If he is willing to unravel his secrets, and to pull you in so that you’d do the same, then you’d do it on your terms. You’ve already fallen into his traps before. In hindsight, he probably used your family to keep you here out of selfish reasons, and not at all motivated by the illusion of trying to be a good Captain who was out to stop a few criminals.

A little scenario plays in your mind: how fast would you be arrested should you turn the gun on the Captain now. But that intrusive thought goes away just as quickly is it had been conjured up. You lift your hand and signal for him to take it back.

“No.” You don’t waver, there is no struggle hinted in your features.

Wesker takes back the gun and replaces it at his hip. He doesn’t look pleased with your answer, but surprisingly, he steps back, tapping his knuckles to the hood of your car as if coming to a silent decision. With that he walks away.

You feel a rush of elation over you. You don’t waste time as you enter your car and ready yourself for some time alone.

***

The day ends normally. And Wesker isn’t chasing you out of the building. But the thing that is regrettable is the fact that Chris is still out working. You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to confront him-if you should even bother doing that.

Being home at your ‘compromised location,’ as Wesker pointed out, you just lay in bed in your comfortable night clothes. You have Chris’ phone number in hand, considering taking that step to just call him. He had made plans with you to have dinner. And if he keeps his word-that’d be tomorrow night. And you go over that number scribbled on that piece of paper enough times until it’s memorized and added to your mental list of priority numbers. You crumble the note in your hand and throw it towards the corner of your room; making up your mind to keep to yourself and to catch up on some sleep.

* * *

Chris chugs the rest of his water, crushing the paper cup in his hand. Emily gives a curious glance from her typewriter and releases a small chuckle. “You bored?” 

“Is it that obvious?” He gives a smirk before throwing his trash away. 

“You could always go on another vacation-“

”I told you I was working.” 

“Sure.” She gives an equal smirk and takes out the document she had been working on.

Chris catches someone in his peripherals, and for a second he mistakes them for you. Emily is quick to notice that change on Chris’ face- going from pleasant to disappointment. 

“Not who you were expecting?” 

“I-ugh...no.” He can’t hide his slight embarrassment. 

“Well, spill it then. Is (Y/N) out again? They aren’t going to last much longer if they keep missing work. Jeez, after all that fuss too...”

Chris is quiet. He looks at Emily with a silent question and she just gasps. “You didn’t know (Y/N)’s out today?”

”No-“

”Jesus, why do I feel like you’ve been busier than the rest of us?” 

As much as Chris wants to blame his lack of attention on being busy, he silently admits that he sought ways to keep busy; to try and sort through his thoughts. But as he created that bit of distance, in an instant, you're suddenly far away. A whole day without contact with you had bothered him. He suspects that you must have had cold feet when it came to the dinner plans. On his day off, you hadn’t answered your phone, and when he knocked, all was silent. 

Yesterday had gone by in a flash and he thought you simply stood him up. He worried that he might have scared you off. But now that Emily gave the appearance of something else going on, he felt a twinge of worry in his gut. And with that worry came regret. Because deep down he knew that you were hiding a lot of secrets.

He tried to stop Wesker from hiring you; he didn’t want to give you access to their resources. And then he found out he had forced you to work at R.P.D.; and everything became more blurred. 

Chris got too close. He fought between keeping to his assigned task and his gut telling him that something else was at play. So he risked angering his boss; he wanted to see for himself what you were up to. 

And when Chris stayed in your home, his suspicions worsened as your ‘family’ kept a close eye on him the entire time. It was off putting. Chris felt confident that one wrong move would mean his disappearance as well. 

Still, he let himself get close. He wanted to-simple as that. Attraction was hard to avoid. And the risk was somewhat exciting. But now that you are being confirmed as a ‘no call; no show’ has Chris moving in an instant.

He doesn’t give a proper goodbye to Emily as he marches up to his office. The sight of your abandoned desk only further pisses him off. He goes straight into Wesker’s office for a round of questioning. 

The Captain isn’t around. 

_Shit._


End file.
